Chuck vs Fulcrum
by ne71
Summary: When Fulcrum makes a devastating strike, Chuck comes to realize how much Sarah means to him; and how far he'll go to keep her safe.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, this is going to be my first multiple chapter Chuck story. This takes place the day after "Chuck vs the Marlin." I have a pretty good idea how I want the whole thing to go, so hopefully I'll have all the chapters up soon. In the meantime, I'd love to get feedback on it.

Oh, and I don't own Chuck. If I said that I did, you wouldn't believe me anyway.

--

Chuck squinted at the tiny jumper in his hand, trying to seat it correctly on the hard drive. He hadn't slept much, considering that even after spending most of the night getting dragged around by Longshore, running from Fulcrum agents, and digging through garbage for Ellie's ring, he had been too wired to sleep. The only blessing was that Big Mike had assigned him to the cage, where he could pretty much work on PCs all day without the usual—

"Chuck!"

He had been about to think, "interruptions."

Chuck looked up to see Morgan clutching the link fencing of the cage, arms spread wide, an anguished expression on his face.

"Morgan, what are you doing?"

"Chuck, guess who I am." Morgan threw his head back and screamed, "Elaine! Elaiiiiine!!"

Chuck couldn't help but laugh. "Dustin Hoffman, 'The Graduate.'"

Morgan let go of the cage and threw his hands up, exasperated. "What? Um, hello? 'Streetcar Named Desire?' Brando, baby! How could you miss that?"

"Probably because that was 'Stella,'" Chuck replied.

Morgan thought on that for a second. Instead of ceding defeat: "Who do you think would win in a fight? Dustin Hoffman or Marlon Brando?"

"Morgan, I'm kind of busy, here."

Morgan shook his head, and started to walk out. "Fine. Try and inject a little spice into the guy's life, but hey, I can only try so hard…"

Chuck sighed. "1950 Marlon Brando, or 1990 Marlon Brando?"

Morgan stopped and grinned. "1990 Brando."

"'Marathon Man' Dustin Hoffman or 'Hook' Dustin Hoffman?"

"Marathon Man."

Chuck thought on it for a moment. "Brando."

"Attaboy." Morgan beamed, and continued to walk out. "By the way, your future baby momma's here."

Chuck perked up at that. "Sarah's here?"

Morgan poked his head back into the room. "See? I say 'baby momma,' you say 'Sarah.' It's inevitable, buddy."

Chuck stood up and smiled. "Go do some work, will you?"

--

Sarah stood by the Nerd Herd desk, drumming her fingers on the counter. Lester sat uncomfortably next to her. "I'm sure Chuck'll be here any second," he said, laughing nervously.

Sarah looked at Lester, leaned in close, and whispered in her most sultry voice: "Don't be afraid."

Lester stood up and retreated to the back of the store. Chuck approached Sarah, looking back at Lester as he walked.

"What's with him?"

"No idea," Sarah shrugged.

"Something going on?" Chuck asked.

"No, just making sure you're all right. We had an interesting night."

"We did indeed," Chuck said, nodding. He wasn't sure what to say. Now that the danger of being extracted was (at least temporarily) past, the things he had said on the roof seemed a bit out of place.

He looked at Sarah, saw how tired she looked. "Get any sleep last night?"

Sarah gave a weak grin. "Not much. Even when I got home and into bed, I was a little too strung out to sleep."

"Sounds familiar."

Sarah smiled, and seemed to be gathering the courage to say something. Chuck sensed her struggle, and tried to make her feel more comfortable.

"Hey, I've got a few minutes before Big Mike's back from his three hour lunch," he said. "Want to get some air?"

Sara looked at Chuck appreciatively. "No, I actually have to go," she replied. "I'll…"

She fiddled with one of her pigtails.

"Are you… busy tonight, Chuck?"

"Well, I'm supposed to feed Morgan around eight, or else he'll get cranky."

Sarah nodded absently. "Oh. Okay." She turned to leave.

"Sarah!" Chuck laughed. She stopped and turned back. "I'm kidding," he said. "Morgan's been feeding himself without incident for… well, for a few weeks now. I've got a good feeling about the future." Sarah finally laughed. Chuck was relieved to see it. "For you, I've always got time."

Chuck had never seen the look on Sarah's face that she suddenly had after he'd said that. It was – gratitude? But something else as well. She looked… impossible as it sounded, Sarah Walker looked helpless.

"Thank you, Chuck," she said. "Can you come by my place around seven?"

"Yeah," Chuck replied. "Yeah, that'd be great." Sarah turned to go, and Chuck called after her again. "Sarah!" She turned to face Chuck again, as he walked up to her and stood close.

"Are you okay?" he asked, touching her hand lightly.

Sarah took his hand and squeezed it. "I'm fine," she said, unconvincingly. "I just…" She breathed in deep. "I wish things could be different sometimes. You know?" she sighed.

Chuck's mind reeled. It was exactly – EXACTLY – what he had been thinking since he'd first learned Sarah was an agent, that she was only there on an assignment. What if things had been different? What if they had just passed on the street? To hear it now, from Sarah herself, made him speechless. Speechless, unfortunately, for a moment too long.

Sarah let go of his hand, and looked embarrassed. "I'll see you tonight, okay?" She didn't wait for a response and walked out of the store. Chuck finally responded, way too late for her to hear.

"Tonight," he said.

--

Sarah drove back to her apartment knowing that she should be upset with herself, but at the same time she just couldn't bring herself to slip into agent mode. Not tonight, not after everything that had happened in the past 48 hours. How was she supposed to scold herself for wanting to spend time with Chuck when just the night before she had stood with her hand on her gun, ready to draw on Longshore to keep him from taking Chuck away? If she'd been willing to go that far, this was small potatoes.

Only, she knew that tonight wasn't about just spending time with Chuck. Tonight wasn't going to be a night where they danced around the issue of a "cover" relationship versus a "real" one. She didn't have the energy for guarded admissions and restrained gestures. She wanted Chuck to hold her. She wanted to open the door to her apartment, pull him inside by the shirt, and collapse into his arms. She wanted to wrap herself so tightly around him that not even air could get between them. And she wanted to stay that way for as long as he'd let her, which Sarah suspected would be as long as she wanted. She smiled at the thought.

She parked and went upstairs to her place. It was a nice thought, "her place," even if it wasn't very accurate. Paid for by the CIA, probably bugged to the hilt. She wondered if she'd ever had a private moment there. She wondered who had been listening in when Chuck begged her to tell him something, anything, about herself – even her middle name. And when she had whispered it a moment later, was it loud enough for anyone to hear?

Sarah felt a wave of anger at the thought, the idea that some analyst in a lab in Virginia was privy to such a private moment. Inspiration struck her, and she rummaged through a bedside drawer until she found what she was looking for – a bug detector. She swept the entire apartment, and finally found one cleverly hidden in the chandelier. She'd probably looked right at it a thousand times, lying in bed trying to sleep.

Sarah plucked the bug gently from its hiding spot, and moved it into the closet. She attached it to the wall, then slid all of her clothes along the hanger rod until they were pressed up against the bug. Disabling it or destroying it would tip off the CIA, but the clothes would muffle it enough so that anyone listening in would just think the apartment was empty.

Sarah smiled. No one would be listening in on her and Chuck tonight. Tonight was for them alone.

She checked the time – 6pm – just enough time to clean up and dress. She stripped and stepped into the shower, wondering what to wear.

--

Chuck looked through his closet. What was he supposed to wear? He doubted they were going to leave the apartment, figured that Sarah just wanted to talk about something that was bothering her. So, overdressing would be a mistake. But he didn't want to show up in a ratty t-shirt, either. What was the standard "I'm here to listen and give my support" outfit? He wished it was colder out. He could wear a sweater then. Guys in sweaters always looked sensitive. Did he even own any sweaters?

Chuck took a deep breath. He was geeking out, even more than he usually did. But Sarah had thrown him with that one look, that one statement.

_I wish things could be different sometimes._

What was she talking about? The extraction attempt? Maybe she meant the entire thing. Maybe Sarah was wishing he had never been put through any of this. _I wish Bryce had never sent you that email. _Chuck was surprised to find himself hoping that wasn't what she meant. Because if it was, then Sarah was hoping the events that had brought her into his life had never happened.

Chuck looked at his watch – 6pm – and realized that in just an hour, he'd know what was going on with Sarah. Better to focus on the task at hand. He stuck his head out of his bedroom doorway.

"Devon, do you have any sweaters?"

--

Sarah felt unusually tired as she brushed out her hair. She wondered if Chuck would stop for coffee on the way. She could definitely use a cup.

She smiled at the thought, the idea of having someone around who knew that her favorite flavor was nutmeg, that she could just barely finish a medium cup but liked getting the large anyway. Someone who cared enough to buy her coffee without her having to ask about it.

Sarah finished brushing her hair, stood up, and felt a head rush. What was wrong with her tonight? It wasn't as if she'd had a particularly tiring day. She'd had a pretty uneventful one, with the exception of her conversation with Chuck. Maybe that was it. Maybe she needed the adrenaline rush that much.

She frowned at the thought. Was it too late for her? Had she become so used to this life, this world where at any moment you could be thrust into a life-or-death situation, that she could never have the simple life? Standing outside the window of Ellie's apartment with Chuck, watching Devon give Ellie the engagement ring, Sarah had felt such a yearning to be normal. She was so sure that she wanted a life where rings didn't have tiny transmitters in them, where dresses didn't have to conceal a weapon, where a kiss between a man and a woman was just that – a kiss.

The doorbell rang. Sarah looked at her watch. 7pm, right on time. Sarah felt dizzy as she crossed the apartment to the door. Was she that excited? Nervous? She shook it off, determined to follow through on her plan from before. She was going to grab Chuck and squeeze the breath out of him.

Sarah flung the door open and reached out to grab Chuck's shirt, freezing at what she saw.

The first thing she noticed was that this was not Chuck. The second thing she noticed was that he was wearing a gas mask. And the third thing she noticed, just before she passed out, was a jagged scar running along the side of his face…

--

Chuck looked at his watch. 6:55pm. He wouldn't be too late if he could just make all the traffic lights between here and Sarah's apartment. Just as he was thinking that, the next traffic light turned yellow and the car in front of him came to an abrupt stop. Chuck threw his hands up as he braked.

"Oh, come on," he said. "20 million insane drivers in the state of California and I'm stuck behind Miss Daisy."

Chuck tapped his finger on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to turn red. After what seemed like way too long, the light finally turned green. But the car in front of him didn't move. Chuck honked his horn. Nothing. He honked again. The car didn't move. Seeing no cars behind him, Chuck got out to see what was going on.

When he came up to the open driver's side window, he saw that the driver was a young woman wearing earphones and painting her nails. She was humming along to whatever she was listening to, oblivious to the world. Chuck edged a bit closer to the front of the car, so that she'd see him out of the corner of her eye. When she finally looked up, she smiled calmly and removed her earphones.

"Hello, Chuck."

Chuck cocked his head. "Do I know you?" He felt an impact to the back of his head; the world jolted, and then went dark.

--


	2. Chapter 2

_A bit of a warning - this one has a torture scene. Not terribly graphic, but it is descriptive._

--

When Chuck came to he was sitting in the driver's seat of his car. He was immediately surprised to find that he was not tied up in a basement, locked in a truck, or handcuffed on a helipad somewhere. His keys were in the ignition. He groaned and felt the knot on the back of his head. Other than that, he felt fine. He didn't feel drugged, and the clock on the radio said 7:15. He hadn't been out that long.

He reached for his phone to call Sarah and noticed that it was gone. So, that was it. He'd been mugged, that was all. He reached for his wallet, expecting to find it gone but surprised to find that it was still there. He opened it and saw that nothing had been taken. So, why did they just take the phone, when they—

_They,_ he thought. _There was the girl in the car, and someone else, and the girl knew my name. They didn't mug me; they were trying to keep me from getting to—_

"Sarah!"

Chuck started the car and raced to Sarah's apartment building. He parked right in front of the entrance and ran to the elevators.

At Sarah's floor, he immediately noticed that her door was open. He ran into her apartment, calling her name, but there was no answer. Sarah wasn't there.

Chuck looked around desperately. There was no sign of a struggle. That didn't seem like Sarah, to go without a fight. Chuck saw the phone, picked it up, and began to call Casey when something caught his eye on the nightstand.

Right next to the phone, completely out of place next to Sarah's night mask and hair brush, was a laptop computer.

Chuck reached for it, then thought twice. Fingerprints. He reached for the phone again and called Casey.

"What is it, Walker?"

"Casey, it's Chuck. Sarah's been captured."

--

Casey stepped into Walker's apartment, carrying a large briefcase. He saw Chuck pacing nervously, clutching a plastic bag. "You touch anything?" he asked gruffly.

Chuck shook his head. "They left a laptop, but I called you before I touched it. Only thing I touched was the phone."

"You flash on the girl in the car?" Casey set the briefcase down on the bed and opened it, revealing a laptop and some other equipment.

"Nothing on her, no," Chuck replied. Casey could tell Bartowski was trying to stay calm, but there was a definite shake to his voice. Casey shined a small penlight on the outside surfaces of the laptop, then opened it and shined it on the inside. The penlight gave off a green glow. Casey noticed something about Chuck out of the corner of his eye, and turned to look at him fully.

"Are you wearing a sweater?"

"Tell me what to do," Chuck said, ignoring the question.

"Just stay out of the way," Casey muttered.

Chuck took a step towards Casey, looking him square in the eye. When he spoke again, his voice was clear and even. "Give me something to do, Casey, or I'm going to go nuts."

Casey looked back at Chuck, and saw that he wasn't exaggerating. He looked ready to kill someone. Casey handed the laptop to Chuck.

"Laptop's clean. I'm going to check the rest of the apartment. Boot up the laptop and check it out." Chuck took the laptop and set it on the bed to boot it up. Guy was definitely in a state, and it wasn't hard to figure out why.

Casey gave him some space, moving to check the front door for prints. All the penlight revealed were smudges. The door had been wiped down. He hadn't been expecting anything less. If these guys were good enough to take Walker down, they sure as hell were going to be neat about it.

"Casey."

Casey turned back to Chuck and came closer. Chuck angled the laptop so they both could see. "This was on the desktop."

There was a media player window open, and Chuck pressed play. The black screen gave way to a not much lighter room. The wall in the far background had a unique-looking section of crown molding visible, and suddenly Chuck's eyes rolled back in his head. Casey noticed immediately. But just as quickly as the flash had overcome him, he seemed to suddenly snap back to normal. Casey was about to ask what happened when a figure stepped into the frame.

Casey recognized him immediately. He was dressed entirely in black, with jet black hair and a cruel looking face that was exaggerated by a jagged scar running across it. Chuck breathed the name out in a rush of air.

"Tommy."

Onscreen, Tommy spoke. "Hello, gentlemen. I'm assuming that I'm addressing Major John Casey of the NSA, and the mysterious Mr. Bartowski. If you're watching this, then the mission we're about to embark upon has been a success, and we are now in possession of one Agent Sarah Walker of the CIA.

"By now we are en route to a base location, where Walker will be kept in rather… uncomfortable… accommodations until you comply with our demands.

"First: We deal with the two of you only. No need to talk to your superiors on this one. No help from any of the agencies you're affiliated with. And trust me, we have moles listening in. We'll know if you ignore this demand.

"Second: You have 24 hours in which to comply. If you do not meet our demands, Walker dies. Very painfully, after providing a great deal of entertainment for those of us who are feeling… lonely."

Casey could sense Chuck tensing up at that last statement, but he concentrated on the video.

"Finally," Tommy continued, "The point to this entire operation. You are to locate, and bring directly to me, one Bryce Larkin of the CIA. Agent Larkin has many things to answer for, and still has many, many uses to our organization. I'm sure he's not even aware of how instrumental he is to the success of our future endeavors.

"The moment you launched this video file, a background process was loaded onto the PC you're using. That process is transmitting the MAC address of the laptop to our system here. When we have further instructions, we'll transmit them directly to the laptop. And as a gesture of good faith, the transmission will also include time-stamped video of Agent Walker to prove that she's still alive. And I give you my word that, at least for 24 hours, no harm will come to her.

"The clock is ticking, gentlemen. I suggest you locate Bryce Larkin as soon as you can."

The screen went black. Casey shook his head. "I keep shooting people, and they keep coming back. Doesn't anyone stay dead anymore?"

Chuck ignored Casey and played the video again. Just as before, his eyes rolled back, then he snapped out of it immediately.

"Did you flash?" Casey asked.

"No," Chuck said, frustrated. "There's something about the start of this video that makes the flash begin, but then it's over. It's like when you feel a sneeze coming on, then it doesn't happen." Chuck started the video over again, and the flash cancelled out again.

"Damn it!" Chuck stood up straight and ran his hands through his hair. Casey was about to say something, when Chuck's posture changed. He leaned back into the laptop, and started the video again. This time he paused it just as the room became visible, keeping his eyes shut. "Casey, I need a hand, here."

"What is it?"

Chuck pointed at the laptop, eyes still shut. "Hold down the ALT key and press 'Print Screen,'" Chuck instructed. Casey furrowed his brow, but hunkered down over the laptop and followed the directions.

"Okay, now what?"

"You have Photoshop on that thing?"

Casey scrolled through the programs until he found Photoshop, and launched it. "I'm there."

"Paste in the image. Control V."

Casey hit the keys. "Okay, I'm looking at the empty room."

"Go to Filters, and choose 'Sharpen.'"

"Bartowski, I've got image enhancement software that—"

Chuck interrupted. "I know, and I've seen you use it; you're like a monkey trying to pilot a submarine. Just please let's do it this way, okay?"

Casey seethed, but had no response. He clicked the mouse. "Fine. Sharpened."

"Control plus to enlarge it."

"Done."

Chuck opened his eyes, looked at the image, and felt the same fleeting beginning to a flash, only this time it caught after a moment. Images cascaded through his mind. A bumblebee pollinating a flower. An elevated train platform. Video of a hooded man, in the room they'd just watched, being beaten mercilessly. Chuck gasped as the flash ended.

"Casey… I know where that video was shot."

--

Sarah woke to a darkened room. She was slumped over in a wooden chair, with her hands tied behind her back and her ankles tied to the legs of the chair. She felt sluggish from the gas, but otherwise in good shape. She wondered how long that would last.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and she could see that she was in a small room, no windows, with just a steel door. She could just barely make out some very small vents built into the ceiling, definitely nothing that could be used for escape. She was stuck here for now. She was grateful that she'd chosen jeans and a simple top instead of the nightgown she'd been considering.

That led to another though – was Chuck here, too? She hadn't been gagged, so she considered calling out to him, but realized how foolish that was. No sense in letting anyone know she was awake just yet.

She twisted her wrists, tried to see if there was a way to get out of the ropes that bound her, but whoever had tied them had done the job well. Same story on her ankles. She tried, as quietly as possible, to flex the chair in an attempt to snap the wood, but it was too sturdy. She was definitely stuck here.

The door swung open, bathing her in light. She squinted, trying to see who was approaching her. As she made out Tommy's face, she suddenly remembered the gas mask. They must have been pumping it in under the door for ten minutes or so before she finally lost consciousness. But the more pressing matter at hand was that—

"You're supposed to be dead," she said, as calmly as she could.

Tommy responded with a slight smirk. Then, quick as a snake, he struck Sarah across the face with the back of his hand, hard enough to knock the chair over. With no way to stop her fall, Sarah landed hard on her side. She cried out in pain and surprise.

Tommy sighed, and shook his head. He grabbed the back of Sarah's chair and righted it, with her still in it. "And here I promised the boys you wouldn't be hurt," he said, with mock regret. "There goes my show of good faith."

Sarah could taste blood in her mouth as Tommy stepped in front of her again. "I do apologize," he said. "But I have a great deal of frustration to take out on you. And the other members of your little group." Sarah wondered if he meant Chuck and Casey, or the entire CIA and NSA. "It's an extremely painful process," Tommy continued, "being preserved and revived. Imagine being operated on without anesthesia. That's probably the best way to describe it."

Tommy nodded to himself, as he seemed to consider his description. He appeared satisfied with its accuracy, and then let loose with another vicious blow to Sarah's head. The chair toppled over again, but this time Sarah made no sound. Tommy scoffed, and clapped slowly.

"Bravo, Agent Walker. Bravo. Don't give him the satisfaction, right?" Tommy stopped clapping, and knelt down next to Sarah, leaning in close to her face. "We're going to get some video of you," he whispered, "before I get too carried away. Feel free to say whatever you'd like to the rest of your team." He snapped his fingers, and righted Sarah's chair again.

Moments later another agent appeared, dressed similarly to Tommy but wearing a full mask to conceal his face. He carried a digital video recorder, and stopped to await instructions. Tommy breathed deep, composing himself. "Okay," he commanded. The agent started recording.

Tommy gestured towards Sarah. "As promised, I present to you Sarah Walker," he said, "mostly unharmed. Superficial damage so far, nothing a little TLC won't fix. But—"

He turned to the camera. "That can all change, very quickly. Bring the package to the address specified in the corresponding text file, no later than 7:30 Wednesday."

Tommy smirked at Sarah. "Anything you want to add, Agent Walker?"

Sarah looked at the camera. "Whatever he's asking for, don't give it to him."

Tommy chuckled. "You gotta admire her spunk, fellas. Remember. 7:30 Wednesday. Come alone." Tommy made a slicing motion across his neck, and the agent stopped recording.

"Get that prepped for transmission, and wait for my go ahead." The agent nodded, and walked out. Tommy turned back to Sarah. He regarded her for a moment, then slowly placed his foot on the seat of the chair, between her knees. He shoved back with his foot, tipping the chair over onto its back. Sarah landed painfully on her wrists and hands, and this time couldn't suppress a cry of pain. Her own weight was crushing her hands.

Tommy leaned over her, waiting until she looked him in the eye. "So much frustration," he said, a hungry look on his face. "Pray, Agent Walker; that your team cooperates. Because at 7:30 on Wednesday night, the gloves come off." Tommy walked out, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Sarah gathered her strength, and rocked the chair back and forth until she rolled onto her side, relieving the pressure from her hands. Hard as she tried to fight them, tears began to well in her eyes. She sobbed, quietly, on the floor in the dark room.

--

Chuck and Casey sat in the car, a few buildings down from what appeared to be an old bank. It was a corner, two-story greystone, and it looked to have been closed for some time. Casey looked at his watch and grunted.

"Should have reported this in a long time ago," he said.

"We can't," Chuck replied. "Remember what Tommy said about the moles?"

"That could have been a bluff."

"You want to call it? With Sarah's life at stake?"

Casey fixed a cold glare at Chuck. "Walker knew the risks when she signed on. If she hadn't gotten sloppy tonight—"

Chuck held up his hand. "Don't, Casey. Don't even start to hint that she deserved getting captured."

Casey seemed to weigh the value of this argument, and obviously decided it wasn't worth the effort. "In any case, we have no idea what to expect in there. Could be a dozen Fulcrum agents."

"One way to find out," Chuck said, getting out of the car and striding toward the building. Casey swore and got out, following Chuck down the street. He fell into step next to Chuck and discreetly passed him a small revolver.

"If you're going to be stupid, at least be stupid and armed," he growled. "Now, listen closely. There's the main entrance, and probably a second entrance in the alley. These vintage buildings usually just have the two. I'll take the back, you try the front. You see anyone who isn't me, shoot first." Casey didn't wait for Chuck to respond; he simply broke off from their path and walked toward the alley.

Chuck approached the front entrance cautiously, peering inside. The lobby of the back seemed empty. He pressed gently on the door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. Chuck took a deep breath, and pushed the door open, stepping into the bank.

As soon as the door opened, Chuck heard a fumbling toward the back of the bank, past the old teller windows. Had he tripped a silent alarm? Chuck crouched down, aiming the revolver toward the sound, and advanced toward the back. Just as he reached the teller windows, he saw a form appear at the gate that separated the lobby from the teller area. Chuck raised his gun, but hesitated. He couldn't fire.

The form turned toward Chuck, saw the gun in his hands, and retreated back. _If you knew who you were running from and who you're running to,_ Chuck thought, _you would have stuck with me._

The sound of metal on bone rang out a moment later, and Chuck edged his way through the narrow corridors until he came upon Casey, handcuffing the man who had tried to flee. He was a young guy, maybe a bit younger than Chuck, medium build, dressed in black slacks and shirt. Casey looked up at Chuck and snapped at him.

"Lobby secure?"

Chuck looked around. "I think."

Casey scoffed. "Don't quit your day job." Casey threw the unconscious man over his shoulder and made his way towards the front of the bank. Suddenly Chuck called out. "Casey!"

Casey spun around, wide-eyed, and glared at Chuck. "Think you can try being quiet while we're in the Fulcrum facility, Chuck?"

"Sorry, sorry, just—look."

Chuck pointed to the vault. It was an old, walk-in vault, with the door swung completely open. And inside was the unusual crown molding.

"I think that's their interrogation room," Chuck said.

Casey seemed to brighten with a thought. "Grab a chair and follow me." Casey brought the man inside the vault. Chuck found a small desk chair and dragged it into the vault behind Casey. Casey set their captive down in the chair. "Stay inside. Face the vault door. If you see anyone who isn't me—"

"Shoot them. I got it," Chuck said. Casey nodded, and went to sweep the rest of the building.

Chuck leaned down to look at the guy they'd caught. He didn't look like an agent of a terrorist organization. He just looked like a guy. He hoped that he had been right, that he hadn't just led Casey to a terrible mistake.

A few minutes later, Casey returned. "Rest of the place is empty," he said. "Junior here must have been cleaning their tracks." Casey dug into his pocket and pulled out a small capsule, breaking it under the man's nose. A moment later he jarred awake. He looked frantically back and forth at Chuck and Casey.

"Who are you? What's going on?"

Casey flashed his identification. "Agent John Casey, NSA. Got a few questions for you. What's your name?"

"Alex. Alex Davis. Am-am I in trouble?"

"What are you doing here, Alex?"

Alex swallowed hard. "I was just getting some work done. Trying to catch up."

"In a bank that looks like it's been closed for years. You'll excuse me if I don't believe you wholeheartedly."

Alex shook his head. "It's opening again. Sixth Fourth just bought the property. I'm one of the consultants they brought in to retrofit the new systems to the old building design. I – I was a little behind on the alarm systems, thought I'd make up some time."

Chuck closed his eyes. _Oh, no,_ he thought. _I was wrong._

Casey glared at Chuck. "This is your terrorist, huh?"

Chuck just stared at the floor, dejected. Casey went into damage control mode. He removed Alex's handcuffs. "Sir, you have my sincerest apologies. We're conducting an investigation into a matter of national security."

Alex stood up and rubbed the bump on his head. "You've got an interesting way of conducting an investigation, Major Casey." He started to walk past Chuck, when Casey grabbed him by the shoulder.

"I introduced myself as Agent Casey," he said, "just like it says on my ID. How did you know my rank?"

Alex opened his mouth to reply, then sighed and smiled.

_Oh my god,_ thought Chuck.

"Fine. You got me," Alex said. "But I'm going to want to talk with my lawyer."

Casey put the cuffs back on Alex and sat him roughly down in the chair again. Chuck stared at him, amazed at the change in his demeanor. Gone was the stumbling, stuttering office drone. Alex grinned at Casey as the larger man browbeat him, demanding to know where Sarah was being held. And as time went by, Chuck saw that nothing Casey said was going to wipe that smile off of Alex's face.

Sarah was alone, trapped somewhere, and this guy knew where. And he was smiling about it.

Chuck wandered over to a teller window and found a pair of scissors. They were the old kind with the metal handles. He held them, feeling their weight, and walked purposely back to the vault.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," Casey growled. "Where is Agent Walker?"

Alex shook his head. "You didn't say please," he said, in a sing-song voice. Casey grabbed Alex by the shirt.

"Let me try," Chuck said, standing behind Casey. Casey glanced at Chuck, then back at Alex.

"Why not," he said, backing off.

Chuck held the scissors up, opened them and shut them in front of Alex to get his attention.

"And what are you going to do with those, Chuckie boy?" Alex asked, still cheery. Chuck's face betrayed slight surprise that Alex had used his name. "Oh, I know all about you. And I know enough to be quite sure that you're not going to do anything to me. You're a little boy playing a grownup game, Chuckie."

Chuck nodded, and wordlessly walked around to the back of Alex's chair. He slipped the handles of the scissors around one of Alex's knuckles. He leaned in, close to Alex's ear, and spoke a single word.

"Where?"

Alex hesitated before replying. "Check my ass. Kiss it while you're there."

Chuck squeezed the handles together. There was a crunch as skin was crushed against bone. Casey's mouth dropped open. Alex grunted, but played it off with a laugh.

"Feels nice, Chuckie," he said, the slightest strain showing in his voice. "Like acupressure."

Chuck squeezed the handles together, harder this time. "Where?"

This time Alex had to cry out. But he recovered quickly. "Oh, that's – that's nice. Yes. I feel the tension just slipping away."

Chuck grit his teeth, squeezed again, and this time kept the pressure on until he heard a loud crack as Alex's knuckle broke. Alex screamed in pain. Casey whispered under his breath.

"Jesus."

Chuck moved to Alex's ear again, waiting until his screams died down enough. "Let me be very clear about this," Chuck hissed. "You have nine more fingers. You have ten more toes. And no one, no one at all, can hear us in here. That's why you sick bastards use this room to interrogate, isn't it? Nice solid vault, as soundproof as you can get. No one's coming to help you."

Chuck slipped the scissor handles around another of Alex's knuckles.

"One more time," he said. "WHERE?"

"Sunset… Sunset Terrace," Alex gasped. "The old shopping center."

Images flooded Chuck's mind. A technicolored pinwheel. A tree in a field. An enormous maze of tunnels, branching out though the greater Los Angeles area. Chuck snapped out of it, dropped the scissors, and stood up straight.

"Sunset Terrace was originally an engine manufacturing facility during World War II," Chuck said to Casey. "They used a series of underground passages to transport the engines to different assembly areas throughout the city. After the war, it was converted into a shopping center, but it closed down years ago."

Chuck looked Casey in the eye. "Casey, that's Fulcrum's base of operations."

Alex looked up at Chuck, still grimacing in pain. "How could you know all that?" Casey responded by knocking Alex out. Casey rubbed the back of his hand and regarded Chuck.

"Never thought I'd be the good cop," he said, an eyebrow raised.

Chuck looked down at the scissors on the ground and grew pale. He felt sick at what he'd done, but also felt an odd satisfaction. Alex had been laughing. He wasn't laughing anymore.

Chuck heard Sarah's voice echo in his head.

_I wish things could be different sometimes._

"I'm calling this in," Casey said, taking out his phone. "This is too big an opportunity to pass up. If we can get a full-scale operation in place before Fulcrum realizes we know where they are, we can wipe them out for good."

Chuck grabbed Casey's hand to stop him from dialing. "You can't," he pleaded. "They still have Sarah. We don't know where in the facility she's being held, and if you start an assault, they'll have plenty of time to…" Chuck couldn't finish the sentence.

Casey yanked his hand away. "Walker would agree with me," he said, harshly. He saw the look on Chuck's face, and tried to say the rest with a trace of compassion. "We're talking about losing one agent to take down an entire terrorist organization."

"We're talking about Sarah," Chuck insisted.

"This," Casey said through gritted teeth, "is why you don't get involved. This is why it was a mistake for Walker to—" Casey shook his head. "We're wasting time." He turned his attention back to his phone.

"Casey, wait," Chuck said. He thought furiously for a moment. "What if we can do both?"

"Save Walker and take out Fulcrum? You eat your Wheaties this morning?"

"I'm not saying it's a sure thing, by any means," Chuck said. "But I think it can be done." He looked at Casey with pleading eyes. Casey lowered the phone.

"I'm listening."

"Can you find Bryce?"

Casey rolled his eyes. "One more guy with a gun isn't going to help us, Bartowski."

Chuck shook his head. "I'm not saying he's going to help us," he answered.

"I'm saying we're going to give them what they want."


	3. Chapter 3

Kind of a short chapter, but I wanted to get it posted to keep things rolling. As always, feedback is appreciated.

--

Tommy stood outside Officer Dillon's office at Fulcrum's base of operations. He had been standing there for several minutes, but couldn't seem to bring himself to knock. Since he'd been shot, and brought back, Tommy noticed that long periods of time would pass where he would seem to be an observer of his own actions – almost like an out-of-body experience, which seemed oddly appropriate.

He'd catch himself staring at a pen in his hand for long moments, unable to stop. The week before, he'd stopped talking in the middle of a sentence during a briefing session with several fresh recruits. Just stopped talking, looking straight ahead. He couldn't explain it.

He knew it had something to do with the recovery procedure, but if he reported it he might be taken off of active duty, which was a sign of weakness in the organization. And he had come too far, advanced too steadily, to allow that to happen.

His one hope was Larkin. Larkin had undergone the same recovery procedure but didn't seem to have shown any adverse effects. If Tommy brought him in, he could have their technicians examine him to see what made him tick. And if he could keep the whole thing under wraps…

Tommy snapped back to the here and now. His superior had summoned him and was waiting for him inside. Tommy just stood staring at the door. He finally forced his hand to move, and knock.

He heard "Come in," from inside. Tommy blinked twice before opening the door and walking inside.

Dillon's office reflected the tastes and status of the highest ranking Fulcrum officer in the western hemisphere. It was an enormous room, previously part of a theater within the shopping center they'd appropriated. The theater had been sectioned off for several different uses, but this office had retained the stage and thirty foot ceilings. Tommy always felt strangely vulnerable with so much room overhead, which he supposed was the point.

Dillon himself was intimidating enough. His background, like many Fulcrum agents, was vaguely military. Although he looked to be in his fifties, he still carried much of the physique of a man who'd been used to constant action all his life. He kept his hair cut in a close buzz, but eschewed uniforms for tailored suits. He was a charismatic man, but beneath his charming exterior there lurked an intelligence which always seemed to be rooting out weaknesses in whomever he was close to.

"Agent Santos," Dillon remarked, glancing up from a report on his desk. "Took you some time to get here." Tommy wasn't used to be called by his last name. He was known throughout the ranks as "Tommy," and enjoyed the fact that a last name didn't seem to be necessary. He was Tommy. Everyone knew him, everyone respected him.

Tommy realized that Dillon was waiting for an explanation. "My apologies, sir," he finally responded. "I…" Tommy blinked while searching for an excuse. He decided against even offering one. "…will be sure to be faster the next time you need me."

Dillon looked up at Tommy and cocked an eyebrow. "I need a status report on safety for tomorrow's assembly."

"Every contingency has been anticipated, sir," Tommy replied. The facility will be locked tight and bulletproof."

"Excellent," Dillon smiled. "Just keep in mind that I don't want it to seem like a prison camp in here. These are the highest ranking members of our worldwide organization. I don't want them treated like inmates."

"Understood, sir."

Dillon nodded, regarding Tommy for a moment. "I understand you took a team out last night."

Tommy froze. How did he know that? Tommy had been certain to use only his closest colleagues, and had faked the logs to show that they had been out for recreation and not a mission.

"Just for some R & R, sir," Tommy replied.

Dillon smiled. "Well, that's good. A little bonding time is nice."

Tommy nodded, saluted, and turned to leave. Dillon continued.

"Of course, it's difficult to bond when you're lugging canisters of phenex gas and respirators."

Tommy froze. Dillon must have had him watched. It's the only way he could have found out. Tommy turned to face Dillon, who had a calm, neutral expression on his face. Most people wouldn't notice, but Tommy knew that was Dillon's way of putting you at ease with him, making you feel like you could trust him. And Tommy couldn't afford to trust anyone.

Dillon broke the silence. "How you been feeling since the… incident?"

"Fine, sir. Good as new."

"And you haven't felt any side effects of the recovery process?"

Tommy paused. How… He knew better than to wonder how at this point. "No, sir. I feel just fine."

"Hm," Dillon voiced, looking down at his report. "That's interesting, because I've been getting reports that your behavior has been a bit… unusual… of late." Dillon looked back up at Tommy. "You sure you're feeling okay?"

Tommy nodded.

"Because – and this shouldn't come as a surprise to you, son – I'm taking a very serious interest in your advancement here. Your record, prior to the incident, has been immaculate. You're definitely leadership material, there's no doubt about that. But I can't have my top men acting unusual. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, sir."

"And I can't have little inconsistencies, like sedative gas suddenly going missing from the supply depot."

Tommy breathed in. "I'll be sure to clear that all up, sir."

"See that you do, agent Santos. And while you're at it—" Dillon's expression went stony. "—see if you can't clear up the little matter of a retention cell that's supposed to be vacant, actually containing a captive CIA agent."

Tommy's heart froze. Dillon stood up and approached him. "Normally, I'd be supportive of a little… creative freelancing, assuming it's for the greater good," he said, coming face-to-face with Tommy. "But right now, with every god damned top authority in this organization coming to my house for a directive meeting, I do not need this kind of bullshit. Do I make myself clear, Santos?"

To emphasize, Dillon poked Tommy in the chest. Tommy could feel the strength of the man, just in that one gesture. He did his best to sound unaffected, but his voice came out in slightly more than a whisper.

"Crystal, sir."

"I want it fixed before the first guest arrives." Dillon went back to his desk and sat back down, turning his attention once again to his report. Tommy turned to leave, thinking furiously. How was he going to deal with this?

He could move Walker, take her to a different facility, but he doubted he'd be able to get her out of headquarters with the same luck he'd been able to sneak her in. He could hide her in another area of the base. That was risky – Dillon could still find out – but it was possible.

The last option was that he could terminate her. There was no way Casey and Bartowski would know she was dead. He still hadn't sent out the videotape and meeting location, so they'd still be acting on the assumption that she was alive. And once they were here with Larkin, they were dead men anyway.

Terminating her seemed the best option.


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah wondered if she'd see Chuck again. Tommy had addressed him in the video, so she knew he wasn't a target; unless there was some kind of psychological angle to all of this. But that didn't really seem Tommy's style.

So, she told herself that Chuck was safe. It helped her feel better. She wondered where he was at that very moment, if he'd seen the video yet. She hoped not. She hoped there was some way out of this before he'd have to worry about her, the way she knew he would.

It was one of the things she loved about Chuck, the fact that even though he was the civilian and she was the government agent; he still worried about her safety. She knew that he wanted to protect her, as silly as that was.

_One of the things I love,_ she thought. There were so many. She loved that goofy grin he'd get on his face when he saw her. It was like he lit up, and no matter what was going on in her life at the moment, she'd feel the same grin, albeit a smaller one, grow on her own face. She loved how clueless he could be sometimes, and then a minute later it was like he knew exactly what she was thinking or what she needed. And most of all, she loved the way he'd always say—

"Dinner."

Sarah snapped out of her thoughts and focused on the Fulcrum agent standing in the doorway to her cell, holding a tray of food. Even with the mask on, she could tell it was the same agent who had held the video camera earlier.

Sarah cocked her head, indicating her prone position. "A little help?"

The agent set the tray down and walked over to Sarah, grabbing the chair to which she'd been bound and righting it wordlessly. He walked back over to the tray, picked it up, and sat it on her lap.

Sarah saw that it was several different colored substances, all of a watery consistency. Food that had been run though a blender. The agent reached into a pocket and pulled out a straw, holding it in front of Sarah's mouth.

"I'm not eating that," she said, matter-of-factly. The agent sighed.

"Tommy says I can't leave until you do."

"Oh, poor baby," Sarah cooed. "Is that going to cause you some sort of discomfort? I'd hate to be the cause of that."

The agent stood motionless, still holding out the straw. Sarah stared at him. Finally the agent shrugged and put the straw back in his pocket. He shut the door to the cell, and leaned up against it.

"Stuck with me, huh?" Sarah said, with an evil grin.

"I've had worse."

Sarah actually couldn't help but laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Why won't you eat the food? You're probably hungry."

"Could be poisoned."

"Tommy needs you alive."

"Tommy has a videotape of me alive, that's all he needs."

The agent was silent. Sarah studied him for a moment. "What's your name?" she asked.

The agent laughed. "You've got to be kidding me."

Sarah smirked. "No, I'm serious," she said. "We're going to be spending some time together, we should get acquainted."

"Save it," he replied. "I know all the tricks. You're not going to seduce me."

Sarah laughed, loud. "Don't flatter yourself. I was just trying to be friendly."

"Right."

They were quiet for a few long minutes. Sarah scrunched her face up a couple of times, wiggling her nose. "Hey, can you do something for me?"

The agent shifted as he leaned against the door. "What?"

"Can you scratch my nose? It's itching."

"You're a riot. Keep trying."

"No, I'm serious," she said, an urgent tone in her voice. "It's driving me nuts."

"You're driving me nuts."

"Come on," Sarah begged. "This is cruel and unusual punishment. It's like waterboarding." She blew out of the corner of her mouth, trying to aim it at her nose.

The agent laughed again. "Got to give you points for creativity."

"What do you think I'm going to do? Break through the ropes and attack you? You're giving me too much credit." Sarah tried to reach her nose to her shoulder unsuccessfully. "Ugh. This is horrible."

The agent stood up straight. He slowly walked all the way around Sarah, checking to see that her bonds were still in place. He tugged at them to make sure. Finally, he stepped in front of her, reached out, and scratched her nose. Sarah groaned appreciatively.

"Oh, my god. You're awesome. Thank you."

The agent shook his head and walked back to his spot on the door. Sarah grinned at him. "So," she said.

"What's your middle name?"

--

Casey paused outside the door to his apartment, and Chuck almost crashed into him. Chuck looked at Casey and held up his arms. "What?"

"We're about to lie to an NSA General and the Director of the CIA," Casey replied. "Last opportunity to back out."

"No chance," Chuck said. Casey grunted, and opened the door. He set up for the videoconference as Chuck surveyed the room. He wondered how many guns Casey hid in this place.

_Guns_, he thought. He pressed his hand against the small revolver in his pocket. Casey had either forgotten to collect it, or decided Chuck was worthy of holding on to it. Chuck quickly decided it was the former. But if Casey wasn't going to ask for it, Chuck wasn't going to offer.

The video screen came to life, and Beckman and Graham appeared. Chuck took a deep breath. _Here we go._

Casey relayed the story they'd concocted: Chuck had had a flash, on a woman at a coffee shop. The intersect had revealed her to be Martha Cole, the Fulcrum agent who had first contacted Bryce Larkin. She was one of Fulcrum's most prolific recruiters, and had gone underground after Bryce's return. The CIA had been after her for months, and now Chuck and Casey had tailed her to her hotel in Los Angeles.

All of this, of course, was false. Chuck and Casey knew that the CIA was looking for Cole, and would jump at the opportunity to nab her. But even more eager than the CIA would be—

"Bryce Larkin," Graham said, "will be particularly interested in apprehending Cole."

Casey grimaced, playing his part perfectly. "You really think it's necessary to bring Larkin in?" he asked. "Walker and I are more than capable—"

"No one knows more about Fulcrum's operations than Bryce Larkin, Major," Graham snapped. "Try to keep your personal grudges out of this."

"Yes, sir," Casey replied, bristling adequately at the reprimand. Chuck felt a wave of relief. They were buying it.

"Where is Agent Walker?" Beckman asked. Chuck stepped forward.

"My fault, General. Well, my sister's anyway. So you can get mad at me, and I'll relay that to her in some sort of passive-aggressive manner, if it makes up for—"

"Just spit it out, Bartowski," Beckman snapped.

"Girls' night out," Chuck offered quickly. "Sarah's had to cancel the last three times she's made plans with Ellie, so we figured it'd be best for our cover if she went through with this one. Wouldn't want any of those intrusive little questions, would we?"

Beckman rolled her eyes. "I suppose not." She turned to Graham. "Your call, Director."

"We put Larkin on it," Graham said. "He's not far from Los Angeles at the moment. We can extract him from his cover role and have him to you in the morning, Major."

Casey nodded. "We'll update you as soon as we have our plan."

"See that you do," Graham said, obviously enjoying Casey's faux compliance. The screen went dead. Chuck breathed out a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad that's over," he said.

Casey stood watching the blank screen for a moment. "It's just starting," he said.

--

"Milo? Seriously?"

Sarah was giggling like a schoolgirl. The agent shifted uncomfortably.

"What's wrong with Milo?"

"Are you kidding me? Milo's a little pasty faced kid with glasses bigger than his face. You don't strike me as a Milo."

"It's just a middle name."

"Thank heaven for small favors."

"There's cool Milos out there," the agent said, a bit defensive but having fun with the conversation. "That guy on _Heroes_."

"I don't watch TV."

"Well, good for you."

Sarah's laughter finally died down. "Hey, what time is it?" she asked.

The agent looked at his watch. "One thirty."

Sarah blew a raspberry, disgusted. "Feels like it should be morning already."

"You're telling me," the agent said. "Will you just eat the damn food already? I was off duty hours ago."

Sarah arched her eyebrows. "You guys have regular hours? Seriously? What, do you have, like, a time clock, where you punch in and out?"

"Yeah," the agent replied. "We're like the sheep and the wolf from that old cartoon."

Sarah cracked up. "Oh, my god," she said, between laughs. "I totally remember that."

"I thought you didn't watch TV."

"Nowadays, no," she said. "But come on, who didn't watch cartoons as a kid?"

"Good point."

"But seriously, how does it work? I know Tommy used to be CIA, and he was working for Fulcrum at the same time. So, you probably have a day job, too, right?"

"I can't talk about that," the agent said, stiffening up a bit.

"Well, yeah, I know; but you don't have to tell me what it is. Just if you have one or not."

The agent was quiet for a while. "Yeah," he said. "I have one."

Sarah nodded. "And you do that all day, then put in extra hours here? Doesn't that get exhausting?"

"Only when the prisoners refuse to eat."

Sarah did her best approximation of a bow. "Thank you, thank you." The agent laughed. "So, how old are you?" Sarah asked.

"I… I don't know if I can—"

"I'm just curious," Sarah said. "I mean, you sound young. You're under thirty, right?"

There was a pause. "Yeah," the agent finally answered.

"Under twenty-five?"

"I'm twenty-four." The agent pulled at his mask. "It was my birthday last week, actually."

Sarah smiled.

"Happy birthday, Milo."

--

Chuck shifted under the covers. Casey had ordered him to get some rest; tomorrow was going to be a big day. But there was no sleeping with what was on his mind. He kept thinking about the scissors around Alex's knuckle; the feel of the metal handles as they shook when the bone broke. Chuck winced and tried to put it out of his head.

He thought about Sarah. There was no reason to take Tommy at his word, but Chuck had no choice but to believe that she wouldn't be harmed until the clock ran out. And in the meantime, he had to believe that she'd be safe.

If she was safe, if they made it through this, and he saw her again, Chuck knew that he couldn't hold back. He'd tell her everything, no matter if his feelings were reciprocated or not. No matter how foolish it made him look.

If he'd only see her again…

--

"Do you think you're going to win?"

Sarah stared intently at Milo. They hadn't talked in the last hour or so. She wasn't sure, but she could swear she'd seen his eyelids droop through the mask a couple of times. At her question, though, he seemed to wake up fully.

"Win what?" he asked.

"All of it," Sarah replied, gesturing in a little circle with her head. "I mean, isn't that the point? Some kind of world domination?"

Milo chuckled. "Yeah. Because this is a James Bond movie."

"Well, then, what's the point? What are you guys after?"

Milo finally gave up his position on the door and slid to the ground, sitting Indian style. "See, the mistake is thinking we're after something," he said. "Thinking that we've got some specific goal in mind."

"Okay," Sarah responded. "Enlighten me."

Milo breathed deep. "What do you think about the world today?"

"It kinda sucks, Milo."

"My sentiments exactly," he said, absently tapping his knuckles on the concrete floor. I mean, look at what the world was like fifty years ago. That was the world the Founding Fathers had in mind when they created this country. We were the only superpower. We worked in conjunction with other willing countries. People cared about other people."

"I'm not so sure about that last part, but go on."

"Well, look at things now. Our current leaders are career politicians who care mainly about building enough influence to stay in office. They're puppets of big business and special interest groups. Do you really think they want to change the world?"

Sarah shrugged. "Well, that's the way the system is," she said. "What can be done?"

Milo looked at her. "What can be done about it is you get a group of people who genuinely care about making the world a better place, and you get them into positions of power any way you can," he said, an edge to his voice Sarah hadn't heard before. "You start on the outside, work your way in with force, and then you become the system."

Sarah looked at Milo. "And you believe that you'll have a place in this system?"

Milo nodded. "I do."

Sarah was quiet. "And I don't suppose there's a place for me, is there?"

Milo cocked his head. With the mask on, Sarah couldn't tell if the gesture was surprise. He stood up. "Tommy said you'd try that."

Sarah smiled sadly. "Tommy's a smart guy." Neither spoke for a while. Finally Sarah broke the silence.

"What's in the food, Milo?"

Milo looked down at the tray, still sitting on Sarah's lap. "Translextrin," he said, quietly.

Sarah nodded. "Painless. Works fast, too. Tell Tommy I appreciate that."

Milo had no response.

"I'll make you a deal," Sarah said. "I'll eat the food. But you have to do something for me."

"What?"

Sarah looked up at Milo with pleading eyes. "Let me see your face."

Milo looked back at Sarah, transfixed. He reached up, and slowly pulled his mask up off his head.

He looked young, even younger than the twenty four he'd told Sarah. She wondered if he'd been lying. He was handsome, with light brown curly hair and blue eyes. He had a look of great sadness on his face.

Sarah gave half a smile. "You're cute," she said.

Milo blushed. He looked down at the floor.

"Do you still have the straw?" Sarah asked.

Milo nodded. He reached into his pocket, and leaned forward to put it in Sarah's mouth. She leaned in, coming close to Milo's face, and tilted her head to get closer to his ear. Milo came in closer to hear what she was going to say. Sarah whispered in his ear:

"I'm sorry."

Milo heaved out a breath. He whispered back. "You don't have to be—"

Sarah interrupted him with a vicious swipe to the head. Milo lost balance and fell over as Sarah lunged up, her hands free but her ankles still attached to the chair. The tray of food spilled over onto Milo's side. Sarah brought all her weight down, through her elbow, into the back of Milo's neck. He hit the ground with a thud, and was out immediately.

Sarah quickly untied her ankles, and searched Milo. She found a set of keys, a radio, and a .45 caliber pistol. The radio had been turned off, which explained why she hadn't heard any reports while Milo was in the room with her.

She stripped Milo, tied him to the chair with the ropes that had been used on her, and put his gear on over her own clothes. They were much too large for her, but she rolled up the pant legs and put on his mask, hoping she'd at least be able to slip to a locker room unnoticed. She tucked her hair inside the collar of Milo's jacket, and cursed as she noticed the food splattered all over the pants. One more thing for people to notice. This was going to be a long shot, all right.

Sarah tried several keys until the lock turned. She cracked open the door, looked both ways down the hallway, and saw it deserted. She took a deep breath, and looked back at her former captor.

"See you around, Milo."

Sarah stepped out of the room, and locked it behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry for the long wait, but inspiration hasn't struck in a while. This is a short chapter, one I wrote while on standby in LAX. Thanks for the reviews so far, and I'm always eager to hear more._

--

"She's just one woman, for christ's sake," Tommy yelled, at the top of his lungs. "You're an entire unit of the best--" Tommy shook his head. This was an unmitigated disaster.

An hour earlier, he'd sent an agent to relieve Milo, who had then been found bound and gagged in Walker's cell. Since then Walker had been methodically picking them apart. Agents were found unconscious and stripped of their weapons throughout the facility, like a path of breadcrumbs. Only they didn't lead anywhere in particular, just in a random pattern that suggested Walker was either a brilliant tactician, or extremely desperate. Neither possibility bade well for Tommy's squad, but he was banking on the former being the case. Walker was known for being cool in a crisis, and this had all the signs of her version of an offensive strike.

Tommy had put off placing the facility on full alert, in an effort to keep the situation from reaching Dillon. But things were beginning to spiral out of control. Tommy was suddenly aware of his entire team standing and staring at him in the open area where he'd summoned them for a quick briefing. He glared at them. "What are you all staring at?"

"You stopped in the middle of your sentence, sir," responded one of the senior agents.

Tommy cursed internally. He had to get this figured out. He couldn't afford to lose face. Not now. "Well, do you need me to hold your hands, ladies? Go and find Walker, damn it! Move!" At Tommy's barked command, the team stiffened, and rushed in all directions.

When alone, Tommy pressed his hand up to his forehead. His radio beeped.

"This is Tommy."

"Agent Santos," the voice on the other end intoned. It was Dillon.

"Yes, sir."

"Our guests are beginning to arrive. Are we secure?"

Tommy winced. "Yes, sir. Tight as a drum."

"Excellent. I'll be giving a tour after the assembly, please see to it that all of our personnel are in full dress regalia. Approximately three hours. Should be plenty of time."

Tommy looked up to the ceiling, wishing for some sort of divine intervention. "Yes, sir. More than enough, sir."

"Carry on."

Tommy clenched the radio in frustration. This was getting very, very dangerous for him.

--

Sarah watched from her perch in the ventilation system. A guard passed beneath her, tantalizingly close, but she held off. She had gotten the rhythm to their patrols by now, and knew that another would be coming in just a few moments…

As if on cue, another guard passed below the vent, just later enough so that the first guard wouldn't hear what was happening. Sarah bounced up from her crouched position, placed her entire weight on the vent she'd previously loosened, and came down hard on the guard below. The guard went down silently, unconscious before he even hit the floor. Sarah quickly gathered his weapons and bound the guard with his own belt and gun strap. She tossed the weapons and the vent up into the opening in the ceiling, then hoisted herself back up into the opening and replaced the vent.

Moments later, she watched as a new guard called in his discovery of the unconscious guard. Sarah took note of the procedure he used to call in the incident, comparing it with the previous times she'd witnessed the same actions. She now had a working knowledge of the guards' protocols, along with a radio. Sooner or later, she'd be able to use that to her advantage.

She hoped she'd be able to act before they caught on to her routine. She hoped she could get out, get to Chuck, before he and Casey did something stupid and came to get her.

--

Chuck paced inside Casey's apartment. It was 7:30, and if Bryce didn't contact them within the next half hour, they'd have to contact Beckman and Graham. If Sarah wasn't in on that teleconference, they'd know something was going on. But contact from Bryce would take priority over the conference call, giving them the opportunity to evade Beckman and Graham a while longer to meet with Bryce. The whole thing hinged on Bryce contacting Casey.

Casey calmly broke down, cleaned, and assembled a series of guns, in what Chuck could only guess was a descending order of importance. The guns unnerved Chuck, in spite of the fact that he was still keeping Casey's service revolver in his pocket. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

"Stop pacing," Casey said evenly, not looking up from his work. He'd seemed pretty tolerant since this whole thing started, but there were still things that Chuck knew wouldn't get past him. Pacing was one of them, apparently.

"Well, I have to do something," Chuck complained.

"Meat and bread in the fridge," Casey responded. "Make your dream sandwich."

Chuck stared incredulously at Casey. "Okay, first of all, it's heresy to make any kind of sandwich, dream or otherwise, this early in the morning." Chuck could hear a low growling noise emanating from Casey, but felt his next point was too important to internalize due to simple intimidation. "Second, I highly doubt you have the proper ingredients to create anything even close to my dream sandwich in that processed food purgatory you call a refrigerator."

Casey finished assembling a frightening looking handgun, set it down on his tabletop with a deliberate thud, and began to rise slowly. Chuck was beginning to think that the sandwich manifesto hadn't been worth the risk of personal injury. Just as Casey reached his full height, his cell phone beeped with an incoming text message. Chuck sighed, relieved, as Casey read the message.

"It's Larkin," he announced. "But he's not making any sense."

Chuck came as close to Casey as he could without inviting a quick elbow to the gut, and read the message on the phone:

WHAT WAS COLOSSUS' ALTER EGO WHEN HE'D BEEN BRAINWASHED?

Chuck winced. First the Zork game, then the Klingon, and now this. Bryce clearly intended to out him on his geekhood at every opportunity.

"Who's Colossus?" Casey asked.

"Character from the X-Men," Chuck explained. I… may have the entire comic book series somewhere. Let's just take your pithy remark as a given and I'll send the correct response, deal?"

Casey smiled and handed Chuck the phone. "No deal. I'm tucking that one away for future use." Chuck took the phone and shook his head, responding with a text:

THE POWER MAD PROLITARIAN.

Moments later there was a knock on the door. Casey drew his gun, moved to the front door, peered through the peephole, then opened the door with his gun drawn. Bryce Larkin stood at the door, unarmed, hands in pockets. He ignored Casey, poked his head inside the apartment, and smiled at Chuck.

"You misspelled proletarian."

--

_For anyone who doesn't get the reference (and I'd be surprised if anyone did, I'm probably the oldest comic book geek on this site), Bryce's code phrase comes from waaaaay back in Uncanny X-Men issue #124. _


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks for the reviews, everyone. They're helping me keep the plot holes Miata-sized instead of SUV sized. :)_

--

Bryce took the scene in and reflected on how strange life could be sometimes. There was Chuck, his only friend left in the world, and John Casey, the man who'd shot Bryce and left him for dead, holed up in an apartment in Santa Monica, surrounded by guns. _Worlds colliding_, he thought to himself.

Casey grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. "Took your time getting here, Larkin," he growled. Bryce smirked.

"I was in Panama twelve hours ago, John," Bryce said. "Not exactly across town. How's the trigger finger? Still itchy?"

"Try me," Casey muttered, and made his way back to his table of guns. Bryce met Chuck's stare.

"How you holding up?"

Chuck nodded vacantly. Something was going on.

"Graham brief you on the situation?" Casey asked, obviously covering for Chuck's hazy reaction.

"As much as possible," Bryce responded. "I assume it's safe to talk?" He gestured around the room. Casey snorted.

"This may be the safest place in California."

Bryce nodded. "So, Martha Cole, huh? Interesting." He kept the corner of his eye on Chuck, who tensed up at the name. Something was definitely off. Bryce flopped down into Casey's armchair, putting his feet up. "I've got conflicting intel, says she's not within a thousand miles from here."

Casey shrugged. "A flash is a flash; right, Bartowski?"

Chuck smiled weakly. "A flash. Yup. That's what a flash is." Bryce shook his head and smiled.

"You two are the worst actors ever," he said. "I mean, seriously, you're like, soap opera bad."

Chuck stammered under the weight of Bryce's smug look. "What - what do you mean? I mean, I'm not - we're not--"

Bryce sighed. "Guys, come on. Just level with me. What's your game?"

Chuck and Casey's eyes met. Bryce noticed Casey nod at Chuck, granting permission. Chuck started talking at his usual breakneck speed.

"Fulcrum has Sarah. Tommy grabbed her right out of her apartment yesterday. We figured out where their base of operations is, and we're betting that they're holding her there." Chuck glanced at Casey again, who gestured for Chuck to keep going. "Tommy's demanding you in exchange for Sarah."

Bryce sat up straight. "You're talking about Sunset Terrace?"

Chuck blinked twice.

"You knew where their base was?" Chuck asked. "Why haven't you done anything?"

"I've known for weeks," Bryce answered. "But Fulcrum has been planning an assembly for a very long time now - just about every major player in the organization. We don't want to make any kind of move that's going to drive them underground again. I was in Panama because that was the most likely location. But if Tommy is in Los Angeles…" Bryce stood up. "That means--"

"They're having the assembly in Sunset Terrace," Chuck finished. He tapped his head. "You could have just asked, you know."

Bryce started pacing. Casey rolled his eyes. "Doesn't anyone think standing still?"

Bryce ignored him. "The assembly is supposed to be taking place tonight. That doesn't leave a whole lot of time to organize an assault. Casey, how many NSA agents are within four hours of LA?" Casey didn't answer.

Chuck stepped closer.

"Bryce," he said. "Aren't you going to ask about Sarah?"

Bryce cocked his head. "Sarah?" He looked from Chuck to Casey, who had an indistinguishable expression on his face. "Chuck, do you realize what's going on, here? We're twenty miles away from the largest collection of domestic terrorists in the world. One agent can't be a factor in whether or not we attack."

Chuck's face screwed into a grimace. "We're not talking about some random CIA drone, here, Bryce," he hissed. "I thought you, of all people, would appreciate whose life is at stake."

Bryce sighed. "Chuck, listen. Your point of view here is a civilian one. I'm not expecting you to understand." With that, Bryce turned and took out his cell phone.

"Don't you turn your back on me," Chuck said, his voice low. Bryce paused for a moment, then unlocked his phone. He heard a click behind him.

"Bartowski," Casey said.

Bryce turned around to see Chuck leveling a small revolver at him. "Put the phone down, Bryce," Chuck said, his voice shaking with anger. Bryce kept the phone out.

"You said Tommy wanted me in exchange for Sarah," Bryce said. "I'm assuming that meant alive."

Casey picked up a pistol from the table and loaded it. He kept it at his side. "Bartowski, drop the gun." Chuck didn't move.

"Chuck," Bryce said, calmly. "From this distance, there are seven methods for me to get out of harm's way. Two are lethal to the attacker. Four disarm with minimal contact. The last one cripples the attacker. You have three seconds to lower your weapon, or I promise you, I'll use the last method."

Chuck flinched, almost imperceptibly. Bryce said, "One."

"Two."

Chuck set the gun down on the floor. Bryce moved in one swift motion, knocking Chuck down to the ground with his forearm and kicking the gun away. He put a knee on Chuck's chest and grabbed him by the collar, speaking through clenched teeth. "I'm a highly trained CIA agent, Chuck. Did you really think you'd get the drop on me? I saw you coming a mile away."

Chuck choked, then spit his words out against the pressure on his chest. "Did…" He hesitated, then looked to Bryce with a resolve the agent had never seen from Chuck.

"Did you see this coming?"

Casey leveled his gun at Bryce's head, an even and determined expression on his face. "Larkin. Stand up."

Bryce scoffed, and did as he was told. Chuck rubbed his chest and stood as well. Bryce looked at Casey, who still had his gun drawn. "You can put that away," Bryce said. "I think he's going to behave."

"From this distance, there are seventeen places I can shoot you," Casey said, deadpan. "Eleven disable with minimal damage. Five are lethal. And the last one hurts very badly." He looked Bryce in the eye.

"I wasn't saving you from him, Larkin. I was worried he'd kill you, and then you'd be useless."

Bryce's chin dropped.

"Bartowski is going to handcuff you now, and then you're coming with us. If you resist, I will shoot you in one of those eleven places, and we'll take you anyway. So I suggest you cooperate."

There was not a trace of the smugness, the self-satisfaction one would expect Casey to get from putting one over on Bryce. Bryce could tell - this wasn't a joke. This wasn't even business. This was personal.

Chuck pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. "Sorry, Bryce."

--

Tommy stood at the designated arrival entrance to the main facility, the end of a long tunnel which began far outside the city. Their headquarters was an ideal strategic location - there were more escape routes than could be counted, and the entrances were hidden in the basements of buildings throughout Los Angeles county. You could live right next to an entrance for years and never know.

Unfortunately, that also made it impossible to find someone as resourceful as Sarah Walker when she was loose inside the facility. It had been hours. She could have made it to several of the entrances by now - the warehouse in Santa Monica, the two-flat in South Bay, the office building in downtown LA.

_Or,_ Tommy thought, _right under my feet._

Tommy swore under his breath and forced a smile as he greeted the delegates from the other Fulcrum branches. Dillon had insisted he be present for the most important members' arrivals, and considering the circumstances he definitely didn't want to give Dillon any more reason to be suspicious. He checked his watch. Ten hours left until his own 24-hour deadline ran out. If he didn't do something soon…

He waited for a pause in the arrivals, and lifted his radio to his mouth. "Anderson," he said quietly.

--

Sarah lowered herself gently into the vacant conference room and dropped silently to the ground. She drew Milo's .45 and double-checked to make sure the room was secure, then locked the door and brought a chair under the vent she'd dropped through. She replaced the vent and crept up behind the door. It had a small window which afforded a view to the hallway outside, and with the lights out in the room she figured it would be impossible for anyone to see her. She glanced both ways down the hallway and saw that it didn't seem to be patrolled heavily.

Sarah went to the conference room table and found a sheet of paper and a pen. She drew what she could remember of the facility's layout on the paper, hoping that visualizing the layout would give her some clue of where she was geographically. Unfortunately, when she was finished, there was nothing about the layout that helped her recognize the building. It was too big, she figured. Maybe she hadn't even been at an exterior wall yet.

Sarah weighed her options. She could go back to the ventilation system, keep doing what she'd been doing, keep them running around in circles. But, from what she could tell, the facility had plenty of agents, so she'd only be wearing herself out.

She could stay put, try to use the emergency channel on her radio to hail someone outside of the facility, but the agents would hear and probably just intensify the search. And for some reason, they hadn't issued a full alert yet. Sarah didn't want to do anything to force their hand. Besides, what would she say if she contacted someone? "I'm somewhere. Not sure where. Come and get me, please."

She could take her chances in plain sight. With her mask on, she had a hope of walking right out of here under their noses. It was risky, though. With the damage she'd done, they were sure to be on the lookout.

The earpiece to her stolen radio clicked to life. She heard a voice - Tommy's voice - hail someone:

_"Anderson."_

_"Yes, sir." _

Sarah recognized the second voice. Milo.

_"Transmit the video."_

_"We haven't found her yet, sir."_

There was a pause.

_"Sir?"_

_"Anderson, are you actually going to question my order, after losing the package the way you did?" _

_Ouch,_ Sarah thought. _Sorry, Milo. _

_"No, sir. I'll send it immediately." _

_"See that you do."_

The radio went silent. Sarah bit her lip. She had to get out before Chuck and Casey came here. She had to let them know that, especially now, they were coming towards certain death. With nothing to give them in exchange for what he wanted, Tommy would certainly choose to kill Chuck and Casey.

Sarah pulled the mask down over her face, checked the hallway again, and swung the door open.

--

As soon as they received the transmission with the meeting location and the video of Sarah, Casey had stopped what he was doing and ducked out to make some preparations. He had gruffly told Chuck to take over his "project."

Sitting at Casey's workbench, Chuck breathed in deep and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, remembering what Casey had told him. _"Just wire the damn thing, Bartowski. Without the battery pack, it's harmless." _

_Harmless,_ he thought. _Right. Just happens to be enough here to take out a city block. Harmless without the battery pack. Okay, tough guy, what about static electricity?_ Least Casey could have done was leave him a grounding bracelet.

Chuck tried to concentrate on the task at hand and not on what he'd seen on the video: Sarah, tied to that chair, in a rare moment of helplessness. There was a red mark on her face where she'd obviously just been hit. Chuck quivered with rage at the thought of Tommy hurting Sarah.

Chuck shook his head, trying to focus. He was going to get her back. He was going to do whatever he had to do to save Sarah.

Bryce spoke from behind Chuck, still handcuffed to the upstairs railing. "Whatcha working on, old buddy?" The last word dripped with high sarcasm.

"Your new fashion accessory," Chuck responded. "Don't want to ruin the surprise, though. So, you know, no peeking,"

Bryce laughed. "Chuck, be realistic, here. You're in over your head. What makes you think you've come up with a plan to take out the leaders of a major terrorist organization when the best strategic minds in several branches of our government's espionage divisions have come up empty?"

Chuck didn't turn around. He pointed to his head. "That gift you gave me a few months back does. Tends to come in handy during little planning sessions like this."

"Is that so? Care to clue me in? I may be able to help."

"Oh, you're going to help, Bryce," Chuck said, turning slightly to look over his shoulder at his old friend. "But the details are kind of need-to-know." He turned back to his work.

"Chuck. Seriously. You're out of your element. Let me out of these cuffs, and I swear I won't report your actions. We still have time to put together an assault through the proper channels."

"And Sarah?"

There was a pause. "Sarah can take care of herself," Bryce finally answered. "Chances are pretty good she'd survive an operation like this."

"See, that's where I'm not really willing to negotiate, Bryce," Chuck said, finally turning completely to face him. "You want Fulcrum gone, and if Sarah lives that'll be the cherry on the top. For me, the goal is Sarah, out safe, at any cost. And Fulcrum is the bonus. You've been more than clear about the fact that you can't work like that."

Bryce shook his head, but didn't argue. There wasn't anything to argue. "So, what happens now, Chuck?"

"In your meeting with Professor Fleming you told him that if I were forcibly recruited I'd never survive in this world. Do you remember that?"

Bryce nodded.

Chuck picked up a vest completely covered in C-4 from the workbench and held it out for Bryce to see.

"What happens now is I prove you wrong."


	7. Chapter 7

"Can I have my gun back?"

Chuck, Casey, and Bryce were in Casey's Suburban, heading towards the rendezvous point Tommy had provided. Bryce was handcuffed in the back seat, wearing the C-4 vest under his jacket. Chuck was in the front seat next to Casey, who was driving.

"First of all, it's not your gun. It's a gun I loaned you, and in an enormous error in judgment, neglected to collect from you after the interrogation," Casey growled. "Second, no, you may not have the gun back."

Chuck frowned. "We had some good memories, me and that gun."

Bryce chimed in from the back seat. "I'll always think of it fondly."

"Both of you, shut your traps," Casey snapped. "Bartowski, any luck with that thing?"

Chuck had guessed correctly that the laptop Tommy left them would have some sort of self-destruct mechanism, set to ignite directly after it received the transmission of the rendezvous point. Chuck had been able to partially disassemble the laptop and remove the device, a small incendiary packet which would burn out the laptop's circuitry. This left them with the functional laptop, which Chuck was now using to try to determine how the transmission was sent.

"It's actually pretty impressive," Chuck said, tapping the keys of the laptop. "Looks like Fulcrum has developed their own networking language, so they can transmit messages by piggybacking on simple public wireless signals. But, unless you have a PC with their proprietary communications protocol, it goes by undetected. Pretty slick."

Casey grunted. "I wouldn't know; I fell asleep after you said 'networking language.'"

Chuck ignored Casey's jab and continued. "In any case, I think I've figured out how it works. I'm working on a virus that can be sent back over that protocol to their mainframe and distributed out through their network. Because they're using this unique language, there's a good change that they're lax on their firewall protection. If I can get it to work, it'll disable their communications and their alarms. They'll be operating in the dark for a good twenty minutes or so, until they can weed out the virus and reboot their systems."

Casey thought for a second. "Why does that sound familiar?"

Chuck coughed nervously and gave a half-shrug. "Um… I don't know."

Bryce spoke up from the back seat. "Because he got the idea from 'Independence Day.'"

Chuck turned around and glared at Bryce. "Every time you out me on being a geek, you out yourself, you know."

"Independence Day isn't a geek movie." Casey said. "I love that movie."

"I'd argue that the presence of Jeff Goldblum makes it a geek movie," Chuck said.

"I second that," Bryce chimed.

"Will Smith cancels out Jeff Goldblum," Casey snapped, surprisingly invested in the conversation. "Besides, there are some great characters in that flick. Major Mitchell, the guy who protects the President. Very understated performance."

Chuck looked quizzically at Casey. Something occurred to him, but Bryce interrupted before he could put it together.

"You mean the guy who shoots the alien… in Area 51… while they're trying to figure out how to stop all the spaceships," Bryce deadpanned. "Geek movie."

"I'm not having this conversation," Casey said, under his breath.

"Then let's have another one, John," Bryce said, leaning close to the front of the Suburban. "Let's talk about how you're bringing the Intersect directly into the hands of Fulcrum. I'd say that's a bit of a deviation from your orders, Major."

Casey flinched. Chuck noticed, but turned back to the laptop. Bryce continued.

"What happens if this scheme of yours doesn't work? Chuck will either end up dead or in their hands. If it's the former, the CIA and NSA lose years worth of intelligence. If it's the latter, Fulcrum gains the upper hand. You could be single-handedly orchestrating the downfall of our government by doing this."

Casey swerved the Suburban, jolting Chuck and Bryce, and pulled over to the side of the road, slamming on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, and Casey turned to Chuck with a serious look on his face.

"What I'm about to say, I don't want ever repeated. Do you understand me?"

Chuck, eyes wide, nodded slowly.

"I'm serious, Bartowski. Never. In your most private moments, I don't want this to even barely enter your consciousness. You forget this right after you hear it, got me?"

"Yes," Chuck said, nodding faster now. "I swear."

Casey glared at him for a moment before turning to Bryce. He spoke in a low, even voice, full of menace.

"I've been working with Bartowski and Walker for almost a year now. In terms of the NSA, that's a hell of a long time. You CIA pansies will never be able to get your heads around that, the way you're paired up with partners. You're like geese who mate for life. But in the NSA, you spend most of your time alone. If you work with someone else, it's not for very long. Mostly because they die on you or you're forced to kill them."

Chuck inhaled, remembering Laslo's warning. Casey continued.

"Walker is my partner. I haven't had many, and I've outlasted the ones I've had; but Walker is the best out of any of them. And I will be god damned if I'm going to stand by and see her get herself killed over your miserable hide. Tommy wants you in exchange for her, he's getting you in exchange for her."

Bryce opened his mouth. Casey cut him off before he could start talking.

"And besides…" Casey seemed hesitant to say the next part, but finally pressed on. "Bartowski says it's possible to get her out and still nail Fulcrum. He's an annoying little turd who doesn't know when to shut up most of the time, but I know this about him: he doesn't posture, and he doesn't pretend. If he says he can do something, he can do it."

Chuck was stunned. Casey turned his eyes back to the road, putting the Suburban into gear and merging into traffic. "If I, of all people, can trust him, then you should, too."

There was quiet as Casey drove. Chuck, mouth agape, finally croaked out the words:  
"Casey, thank--"

"Do you call that forgetting, Bartowski?"

"Sorry. Yep. Completely forgotten," Chuck said, returning to his work on the laptop, a huge grin growing on his face.

--

Sarah had managed to make her way from the conference room area to what seemed to be the outskirts of the facility. She had been trying to map the place out in her head, but it was just too large and unpredictably built to get an idea of the design. She guessed they were underground, but past that she had no idea where she was.

In any case, it didn't matter. She could see a group of golf carts next to what seemed to be a large access tunnel. If she could just get to one of the carts, she could at least distance herself from the heavy patrols. Sarah made her way towards the carts, checking all round her for any pursuers. The coast was clear.

Sarah jumped into one of the carts and went to start the gas engine, but when she pressed the pedal down nothing was happening. She noticed that the keys were not in the switch. She looked around again, then reached under the flimsy dashboard and pulled the wires from the switch. After a moment, she had them stripped and attached correctly. She sat back up--

--And saw Tommy standing right next to her.

He was staring at her, the same way he had been in the holding cell, with that thoughtful look on his face. Sarah took a moment to look back, wondering what his game was. Why wasn't he drawing his gun? Her hand moved to Milo's .45, ready to draw. Tommy's hand was nowhere near his gun. If he moved, she would shoot, but that would certainly draw more guards.

Finally, Tommy noticed Sarah's hand on the gun. "No," he said vacantly. "Don't do that. That's not going to be good for anyone."

Sarah unbuttoned the holster. "I think I have a pretty good chance. Make a move for the gun and you'll find out."

"I'm not going to do that," Tommy said, his voice even. "But listen to me. Your friends are on the way. This is almost over. They're bringing me what I want, and I'm going to give you back to them. But if you make a scene, that isn't going to happen."

"What is it you want? What are they bringing you?"

Tommy hesitated, then slipped back into that stare. Sarah furrowed her brow. What the hell was going on?

A voice from behind broke Tommy out of his spell.

"Agent Santos, just the man I wanted to see."

Sarah gripped the pistol tighter and angled to see who was approaching. She immediately recognized Leonard Dillon from a mission briefing years earlier. She couldn't remember the specifics, but Casey had somehow been involved. Something about Cuba?

Dillon was leading a small group of well-dressed men towards Tommy and Sarah. Tommy was frozen. Sarah got ready to shoot.

"Agent Santos, I want you to meet some members of our London branch--" Dillon stopped when he saw that Tommy wasn't alone. "Who's this?"

Tommy glanced at Sarah, then back at Dillon. "New recruit, sir. Just briefing her on security protocols."

"Well, inform her that we don't wear masks in the presence of superiors."

Tommy turned to Sarah. "Take the mask off." Sarah looked to Dillon, then back to Tommy. She let go of the .45 and pulled off her mask.

Dillon's eyes went wide, as did one of the members of his entourage. "Is that Sarah Wilcox?" the London agent asked. Sarah recognized him as a member of MI6 she'd worked with on a joint organizational assignment.

"Henry Moore," she said, nodding.

Moore turned to Dillon. "Very impressive, Dillon. I worked with Ms. Wilcox here a few years back on that whole Aquarius mess. I must say, I'm surprised you were able to turn her. Loyal as a bulldog, only far more lovely." Moore smiled brightly at Sarah, who returned the smile. Dillon nodded smoothly, not really paying attention to Moore.

"Yes," Dillon said. "Well. We can be very… persuasive… when the need arises." He placed a hand on Sarah's shoulder and gripped it, hard. "Come to think of it, Agent Wilcox, why don't you join us for the rest of the tour? I'm sure you'll find it fascinating."

Tommy spoke up. "Sir, we have some manners of importance to deal with." Dillon glared at him.

"More important than our guests, Santos?" Tommy went silent. He shook his head. "Excellent," Dillon continued. "Come along, then, Agent Wilcox. We'll finish out the tour, and then you'll join us for the presentation. And if the urge hits you, perhaps you'd like to say a few words to our esteemed colleagues. I'm sure they'll all treasure hearing from such an accomplished agent."

Sarah rose slowly and joined Dillon's group. Tommy watched as they walked back into the complex. He raised his radio.

"Milo. I need you to stall."

--

Milo stood outside the shuttered firehouse in Long Beach. He watched as the tiny black dot in the distance turned into a Suburban. "Copy that," he said into his radio. "They're coming right now."

The Suburban pulled up to the firehouse, and three men got out. Milo was able to place all of them by Tommy's descriptions: John Casey, Bryce Larkin, and Chuck Bartowski. Larkin appeared to be in handcuffs. Bartowski seemed nervous. And Casey was completely unreadable.

The three men stopped about ten feet away from Milo. Casey spoke.

"Where's Tommy?"

"Delayed," Milo responded. "I'm to collect the package."

Casey snorted. "Tell Tommy the deal's off." He turned back towards the Suburban, a hand guiding Larkin along. Bartowski seemed hesitant to leave, but finally followed suit. Milo called after them.

"That's not how this works," Milo said, cocking his weapon. The trio stopped and turned back to look at him. Milo kept the gun down at his side, in case any passerby noticed. "You hand over Larkin, or you get dead."

Casey nodded, taking it all in. "There's a third option," he said, taking hold of Larkin's coat and opening it to reveal several bricks of C-4. Milo grimaced. Bartowski held up a small electronic device.

"This is a dead man's switch," Bartowski said, a little shakily. "If you shoot me, I drop the switch, and it triggers the explosives. You take Bryce more than thirty yards away from me, and the explosives are triggered. If I decide you're being unreasonably rude, I drop the switch and it triggers the explosives."

"So," Casey said, smiling. "You should try not to be rude."

--

Moments later, the four men were sitting in a golf cart driven by Milo from the hidden entrance within the firehouse through a tunnel to the facility a few miles away. Milo and Casey were in the front, and Chuck and Bryce were in the back.

Chuck tapped his fingers on his knees, watching the walls of the tunnel as they drove towards the facility. He looked at Milo.

"So, since we seem to have some time together, just out of curiosity…"

Casey shook his head. "Bartowski, don't."

"Come on, I'm dying to know." Chuck turned back to Milo. "Where did this golf cart come from? Do you go and buy golf carts at, like, a country club supply store or something? You go somewhere and buy twenty golf carts at a time?"

Milo looked questioningly at Chuck. "You sound like someone else I know."

Chuck continued. "I'm just curious about the specifics of the whole thing. I mean, how does it work? Do you have them delivered? 'Just bring them to the bad guy lair at the edge of town, please.' Do you have Fulcrum credit cards, or do you pay for them in cash and get reimbursed? Does Fulcrum have a petty cash account?"

Milo stared at Chuck for a moment, then turned to Casey.

"How have you not killed him yet?"

Casey shrugged. "I grow bonsai trees."

Milo raised an eyebrow at Casey.

Casey mimed making tiny snipping actions with scissors. "I trim them. It's calming." Milo's eyebrow remained up. Casey sighed.

"Just drive, okay?"

"Are we there yet?"

"Shut up, Bryce."


	8. Chapter 8

_This is kind of getting away from me, so I'm going to try and wrap it up within the next couple chapters. Thanks for your patience, and I promise to outline next time. :)_

* * *

Tommy sat in the golf cart, idly separating the wires Sarah had spliced together. There were many things he should have been doing at the time, but as was the norm lately, he couldn't seem to break himself away from this mindless little task.

He thought about how wrong everything had gone. The whole point to getting Larkin on his own had been to figure out what was wrong with him, why he was having these hazy spells, without alerting Dillon or any of the other higher-ups to his condition.

He had pulled some strings, convinced one of the medical staff who had worked on devising the revival procedure, to examine Larkin and compare his physiology to Tommy's. There had to be an answer for why Tommy was left a shell of a man while Larkin seemed to be back at 100 percent.

But now, things were so out of his control that there was no way out of this without Dillon finding out. It was a Catch-22: he never would have let things get out of hand like this if he were his old self. Of course, if he was his old self, he wouldn't have to capture Larkin in the first place. Tommy smiled at the thought and shook his head, smoothing out the tiny copper threads to get them as straight as possible. He was making good progress with this, at least.

Something was out on the edge of his awareness, calling out to him. Was that his name? He pulled his attention away from the wires and tried to focus on the sound. It wasn't someone nearby…

_Oh,_ he thought. _It's the radio._

"Tommy? Tommy, come in."

Tommy answered Milo's call. "This is Tommy. Go ahead."

"I've been hailing you for forever," Milo responded. "Where have you been?"

Tommy looked down at the wires. "I've been busy."

There was a pause. Milo finally spoke again. "Well, I've got them."

That sounded good. "That's good," Tommy said. He nodded a bit. Wait a minute. What was good? It was so hard to think… "What have you got?" he asked.

There was another pause. Milo seemed to be taken back by the question. "I've got _them,_" he said. The package and the messengers."

Tommy's heart stopped for a moment. He felt a jolt of adrenaline, and snapped back to reality. "WHAT?"

"I'm bringing them in," Milo said. "They're in the cart with me."

Tommy brought a hand up to his forehead. "Let me get this straight," he said. "You're bringing a CIA agent, a Major with the NSA, and--well, some other guy who seems to be important--right into our base of operations."

Milo paused one more time. "Well, they have a bomb."

"SO YOU'RE BRINGING THEM HERE?? What happened to stalling them? How far away are you?"

A different voice came across the radio. "Not far, Tommy."

Tommy turned around to see John Casey, holding a gun on Milo, in the passenger seat of the golf cart. Right behind him. This was getting better by the second.

Tommy drew his gun and aimed at Casey. "Now now," Casey said, calmer than the situation seemed to dictate. "Let's be gentlemen, here, shall we?" Tommy craned his neck and saw Bartowski in the back seat, sitting next to…

Larkin. Maybe he could get out of this after all. He lowered his gun and approached the cart.

"Let's make a deal," Tommy said.

--

Dillon led Sarah with a hand on the small of her back as they continued their tour of the facility. She had counted over twenty agents that she recognized during the tour, and her heart sank a bit more with each one. Did anyone realize how deep Fulcrum's influence went? How could they fight something like this?

The facility was like a dark version of Langley. They had agents, analysts, support staff - everything a legitimate government organization would have. Her head swam with the logistics of it: the funding, the planning, the loyalty. And this was just one of their bases. How had this continued without the CIA or NSA's knowledge? Unless…

Could Beckman and Graham actually have been in on this? How could she trust them? How could she trust anyone?

She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself, but it wasn't coming. Even if she got out of this, Fulcrum would still be all around her. And so many of the agents had seen her, walking right next to Dillon. They would go back to their own agencies and talk. All she would have to go on would be her word. There would be rumors, investigations…

Sarah couldn't stop the world from spinning. She was alone, so alone in this. No one to trust.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to have a home, and then go home. She wanted to lock herself in her room, go to her bed, and curl up and hide under the covers. So many lies, after so many years, and now there were just more lies and no one she could be sure about. No one but Chuck.

If she had a normal life, if their relationship was even remotely real, he'd be there in the bed next to her. She could curl up and hide under the covers, and instead of her feeling lost and alone Chuck would rub his hand up and down her back, and whisper in her ear that everything was going to be all right. And it would be. She'd never know about things like this. Someone else could save the world. She could just hold on to Chuck, kiss him and fall deeper and deeper into him.

_Chuck, _she thought. _I wish things could be different. _

--

Chuck watched as Tommy lowered his gun. So far so good. He stepped out of the cart and approached Tommy while Casey kept his gun drawn on Milo.

"Where's Sarah?" Chuck shifted the dead man's switch in his hand, keeping the trigger pressed. Tommy cocked his head at the gesture and smiled.

"Larkin's the bomb, isn't he?"

"That's what the girls said back in college," Chuck said. "But today it's literal, yes." Chuck held the switch up. "Where is she?"

Tommy looked around. They were still alone. "I can take you to her, but we'll need a cover story." He took out a pair of handcuffs. "Milo, you got yours?"

Milo nodded and stood up. Casey grabbed him by the collar and forced him back into his seat with a growl.

"Don't worry, Casey," Chuck said. "I think I know what he has in mind. Keep your gun hidden, though. And Tommy, you keep the cuffs clasped loose enough for us to slide our hands out. Any funny business, and I drop the switch."

"Does this make Casey Chewbacca?" Bryce asked.

--

Dillon checked his watch. "This will have to conclude our tour, gentlemen," he said to the London agents. "We're going to be starting the conference in just a few minutes. I suggest you find a good seat in the auditorium." He gestured towards a pair of doors at the end of a hallway. The agents exchanged pleasantries and went on their way.

Dillon turned to Sarah. "Wilcox, eh? Last I heard, it was Walker."

Sarah shrugged, shaken by the recent revelations but mustering up as much courage as she could. "It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind."

"Too true," Dillon said, grinning. He snapped his fingers. Three agents emerged from out of nowhere. "Escort Ms. Walker behind the stage," Dillon said. "Looks like I'll have a little something extra to show off during my presentation. The CIA's top agent, along with all her secrets." Dillon leaned in close. "And you will tell us your secrets, my dear. One way or another."

Dillon turned and walked towards the double doors. The agents took Sarah to a side entrance which led to a backstage area. They took the jumpsuit off her, leaving her in her street clothes, and strapped her into what looked like a dentist's chair.

Sarah knew otherwise.

--

Tommy led a handcuffed Chuck, Casey, and Bryce through various hallways and corridors, with Milo bringing up the rear. Chuck still had the dead man's switch, and Casey kept his gun hidden in his waistband. Their handcuffs were loose enough for them to slip out of if need be.

They came to a small guard station, which was unmanned. Tommy checked a computer at the station for Sarah's current location. He reported back that she was being held backstage at the conference. Tommy reasoned that they could find Sarah, make it look like she'd escaped, and leave Bryce with him. Chuck and Casey agreed, while Bryce remained silent.

Chuck felt oddly confident. Things were actually going as planned, so far. Maybe they'd be able to pull this off without any--

"Halt!"

He had been about to think, "complications."

They turned to see a guard entering the station. He looked strangely at Tommy and the others. "Where are you taking these… people?"

Tommy stepped forward. "Prisoner transfer," he said confidently, "from cell block one one three eight."

The guard furrowed his brow. "I wasn't notified. I'll have to clear it." He stepped towards the radio next to the computer. Casey slid out of his cuffs and brought his arms around, gun in hand.

"Look out!" Tommy yelled. "He's loose!" Tommy pulled his own gun and shot over the guard's head, causing the guard to drop for cover behind the counter. Tommy pushed Chuck and Bryce out of harm's way.

The guard slid out from behind the counter to aim, but Casey shot first and hit him directly in the chest. The guard slumped to the floor, dead.

Milo pulled his own gun and aimed at Casey, who dodged out of the way. Milo turned his sights to Chuck, who shut his eyes in anticipation of the shot. He heard a crack, but didn't feel anything. He looked up to see Milo drop his gun and fall to the floor. Chuck turned to see Tommy, standing with a vacant expression, his gun smoking.

Chuck stared at Tommy, shocked. "You saved me," he said.

Tommy stared back at Chuck. "I saved myself. The dead man's switch, remember?"

Chuck looked down at the switch in his hand. "Oh, yeah." He looked down at Milo, on the floor, clutching his chest. "Sorry, Milo."

A voice came from the station radio. "Forrestal, report."

Casey leaned into the microphone. "Everything's under control. Situation normal," he said.

"What happened?"

"Uh, had a slight weapons malfunction, but, uh, everything's perfectly fine now, we're all fine… here… now. How are you?" Casey winced.

"Who is this? What's your operating number?"

Casey stood back and shot the radio. "Boring conversation anyway. Bartowski, give me the switch." Chuck carefully handed the switch to Casey.

Casey turned to Tommy. "We're going to have company. You take Bartowski to get Sarah," he said. "I'll hold down the fort here. When you bring Bartowski and Walker back alive, I'll turn Larkin over to you."

Tommy hesitated, then wordlessly turned and started down the hallway. He stopped and turned back to Chuck. "You coming?"

Chuck looked at Casey. Splitting up was not part of the plan. "Are you sure about this?"

Casey nodded, and said, "Good luck." Chuck returned the nod, weakly, and followed Tommy down the hallway. Bryce shook his head.

"Man. This means I'm Chewbacca."

--

Sarah tugged against her bonds, but they held her tight. There wasn't much hope of escape anyway, with the two agents guarding her. Dillon didn't seem to be taking any chances.

She could hear the presentation begin on the other side of the curtain. There was a muffled, unintelligible voice, followed by thunderous applause. How many people were out there, anyway?

Suddenly, there was a knock on the side door. One of the agents answered the door, and Tommy walked in.

"Sir," the first agent said. "We weren't expecting you."

Tommy nodded, staring at Sarah. That vacant expression was back.

"Sir? Are you all right?"

Tommy finally turned to the agent. "Of course. I'm here to relieve you."

"We were told by Officer Dillon to stay here until the presentation was finished," the agent responded.

"And now I'm telling you that I'm here to relieve you," Tommy snapped.

There was a tense moment in the room. Sarah noticed Tommy's right hand hover next to his gun. _Oh my god,_ she thought.

Suddenly, the muffled voice from behind the curtain rose enthusiastically, and the crowd applauded even louder than before. The side door swung open into the room, striking the first agent, who fell to the ground. Tommy spun around and knocked the second agent out with a vicious backhand. He moved quickly, grabbing the first agent and punching him, knocking him out as well.

Tommy stood up straight again and looked at someone blocked from Sarah's view by the door. "Nice work," Tommy said.

Sarah watched as the door swing closed, revealing Chuck. Her mouth dropped in amazement. "Chuck!" she whispered loudly, "What are you doing here?"

Chuck smiled. "I'm here to rescue you."

Sarah fought back her emotions as Chuck rushed to her and started releasing her bonds. She couldn't believe it. Chuck was here. To rescue her. Chuck was rescuing her, not the other way around. She wanted to laugh, wanted to get her arms free and throw them around him, let him pick her up and carry her out of here. But the professional in her screamed for attention. The hesitation only lasted a moment.

"Chuck, listen to me. You have to get out of here. You have to get as far away from here as you can. Where's Casey?"

Chuck's voice was calm, too calm for the situation. "Everything's under control," he said. "Casey's not far."

"Chuck, you don't understand--"

"What's to understand? I'm getting you out of here."

"No, Chuck, listen. They're about to--"

Sarah was interrupted by the muffled voice, rising again. Only this time she could just barely make out the words. _Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present…_

Chuck released the last strap holding Sarah. "Who's that?" he asked.

_Sarah Walker, of the CIA!!_

As the crowd broke into wild applause, the curtain rose. Spotlights flooded the area, and Chuck, Sarah, and Tommy looked out at an enormous auditorium. Hundreds of Fulcrum leaders, from all over the world, filled the seats.

The applause died quickly when they saw Chuck freeing Sarah, and Tommy standing by. Dillon turned to see what the silence was about. When he saw, his face registered rage.

"GUARDS!!"

Dozens of agents appeared in the aisles. Half the Fulcrum leaders stood and drew weapons. And Chuck's eyes bulged as he babbled to himself:

"Don't freak out."

* * *

_Okay, so the Star Wars references are probably a bit much. I can't help myself._


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

A team of agents had reached the guard station and had Casey and Bryce pinned down by gunfire. They huddled behind the guard station for cover.

Casey removed Bryce's handcuffs and was trying to get the C-4 vest off of him. He fumbled with the clasps on the back of Bryce's vest. "Here," he said, handing Bryce the dead man's switch. "I can't do this one-handed."

Bryce carefully went to grab the dead man's switch out of Casey's hand, trying to keep the trigger depressed during the handover. Casey was shoving the switch towards Bryce, faster than Bryce was prepared for.

"Careful!" Bryce hissed. "You're going to vaporize both of us!" Casey paused for a moment, then smiled and handed the controller over more gently. Bryce took hold of it and saw his knuckles go white with how hard he was squeezing.

"You know," Casey said, smiling. "You got an opportunity here put your money where your mouth is."

Bryce stared at the switch, answering distractedly. "Yeah? What do you mean?"

A few more bullets whizzed by overhead. Casey popped up for a second, squeezed off three shots in the general direction of the shooters, and then dropped back down to his cover position.

"I mean, you were all set to sacrifice Walker to make sure Fulcrum went down permanent-like," Casey said. "Well, you're currently in possession of enough C-4 to turn every leader in their organization to dust. Only problem is, they'll be sweeping you up with a broom, too." Bryce saw a glint in Casey's eye. "You man enough to do the job?"

Bryce felt the weight of Casey's words drop on him. He took a breath to respond, but couldn't seem to push the words out. Casey nodded.

"I figured as much. Tell you what. You stay here, struggle with that little moral dilemma for a while. I'm going to find Bartowski and Walker." Without pausing, Casey turned and sprung out from his crouch into a roll towards the corridor.

"Casey!" Bryce shouted out after him. "You can't leave me here like--" He stopped when he realized Casey was already on his way. A hail of bullets followed him, but Bryce could see Casey make it to the opening. A moment later he was gone.

Bryce looked down at the switch in his hand.

--

The guards closed in on Chuck, Sarah, and Tommy.

"Tommy, do you know what time it is, exactly?" Chuck asked.

Tommy stared at Chuck in disbelief. "The time?"

"Yes." Chuck said, stiffly. "The time."

Tommy looked down at his watch. "It's eight o'clock."

"Exactly?" Chuck asked. "Exactly eight o'clock.? To the second?"

Tommy looked again. "It'll be exactly eight o'clock in ten seconds," he corrected.

"Ten seconds," Chuck said, thoughtfully. "That's fortunate."

"Why?" Sarah asked. "What happens at eight o'clock?"

--

At the firehouse entrance, resting on the passenger seat of Casey's Suburban, the laptop computer chirped to life as it ran Chuck's virus, uploading it into the Fulcrum network.

--

The guards stepped closer. Some of the more enthusiastic of the Fulcrum leaders joined them, eager to participate. Dillon spoke.

"Did you really think you were going to get out of here alive?" he asked smugly.

"Well," Chuck shrugged. "Anything's possible."

Suddenly, every light in the facility flickered. Static shot through the PA system. Alarms chirped and then went dead.

Dillon barked out orders. "Stay on them! Control, report!" A mechanized voice cracked through the speakers.

_Please stand by. We are experiencing high call volumes. Your estimated wait time is… three… hours._

The lights went out completely. Chuck grabbed Sarah's hand. "That's our cue." They ran out the side door, a moment before the emergency lights flickered on. Dillon screamed at the top of his lungs.

"GET THEM!!"

The guards rushed towards the side door, and a second later the emergency lights extinguished. They collided into each other in their blind scramble to the door.

The PA system crackled to life with a pop song:

_**Do, do you got a first aid kit handy?  
**__**Do, do you know how to patch up a wound, tell me?**_

--

Chuck, Sarah, and Tommy sprinted down the darkened hallway leading to Casey and Bryce. Tommy led the way out of memory, with Chuck right behind and Sarah bringing up the rear. Sarah heard the song begin to play.

"Is… is that--"

"Damaged, by Danity Kane," Chuck answered. "It's the only MP3 Tommy had on his computer."

"It's a guilty pleasure," Tommy snapped. "Sue me."

"You took out their entire system?" Sarah asked.

"Virus in their network," Chuck replied. "They should be down for about twenty minutes."

"Did you get that from Independence Day?" Sarah asked.

"Hey, you were paying attention on movie night!"

"I have a thing for Jeff Goldblum."

"Okay, that's weird."

"You two want to pay attention to the matter at hand?" Tommy hissed. "We're coming up on the guard station."

--

In the darkness and confusion, a bead of sweat ran down Bryce's cheek as he felt the dead man's switch in his hand, bullets flying overhead. This was it. This was his chance.

Every major player in the Fulcrum hierarchy was within 100 yards of him, and he had enough explosives strapped to his chest to blow them all to hell. All he had to do was release his grip on the switch, and the greatest threat to democracy of the 21st century would be wiped off the face of the earth. All he had to do was relax his hand.

He had lived a pretty amazing life, even by an espionage agent's standards. He had single-handedly broken up a Czech terrorist cell by perfectly infiltrating their ranks, then waiting until they met with their poison gas supplier in a warehouse miles outside Prague. Bryce simply locked them inside and listened as they blamed each other for the betrayal. Bullets began flying soon after, and it wasn't long before the gas canisters were hit by the crossfire. He'd defused a bomb in the US Embassy in Shanghai with a letter opener. And then there had been that whole Oceanic affair.

He'd had his fair share of conquests when it came to women, as well. There was the daughter of the Columbian drug lord who helped him lure her father into a CIA-engineered sting, in exchange for immunity, who was all too eager to show her appreciation for his lenience. The wife of the Nigerian weapons trafficker he'd seduced to learn her husband's whereabouts, who smelled of jasmine and talked dirty in her native dialect the entire time they wrestled between the sheets. And, of course, there was that fellow agent of his, the one who was supposed to have been completely untouchable. He'd proven that particular rumor wrong, and gotten more than he'd bargained for in the process.

Sure, there were things he would have liked to have experienced in his life. He'd always dreamed of building his own house, with his bare hands. Maybe a little cabin in Maine, where he could watch the ocean crash against the shore while breathing in the salty air. He wanted to take a road trip, just him and a beat up old convertible, and see the country without the weight of a mission on his shoulders. Drive out to the Grand Canyon, park a few feet away from the edge, and just sit there watching the sun play across the multicolored landscape.

And yes, he would have liked to have had a nice girl tell him that she loved him. Someone untouched by this world of secrets and lies, someone who loved him because he was funny and strong and made her feel safe when he held her. But that probably wouldn't have happened, anyway. Not for a guy like him.

_No,_ he thought. _That's not what I was built for. Now come on, Larkin. Do your job._

Bryce slowly released the pressure on the switch in his hand, closing his eyes and bracing for his life to end. He knew it wouldn't hurt. He wouldn't feel a thing. His finger loosened, until finally, the switch clicked…

And nothing happened.

Bryce opened his eyes. He looked down at the switch, now completely released. He squeezed it again and let it go. Still nothing. Bryce let out the breath he'd been holding for what seemed like hours.

"I hate you, John Casey."

Suddenly the emergency lights flickered on. Several shots rang out, from the opposite side of the room than Bryce had been hearing. Was he surrounded, now? There was silence for a moment. Then Chuck's voice:

"Casey?"

Bryce stood up. He saw Tommy standing with his gun drawn on one side of the room, and the fallen agents on the other side. Chuck was behind Tommy, and Sarah was already moving to pick up the agents' guns. Bryce looked back at Tommy.

"You're shooting an awful lot of your own guys today," he said.

Tommy holstered his gun. "You gonna tell on me?"

Sarah slid a .45 into the waistband of her pants, and leveled another one at Tommy. "Get your hands in the air," she commanded. Tommy didn't move.

"Whoa! Whoa! Sarah, take it easy," Chuck said, stepping in front of Tommy. "We still need him."

Sarah looked at Chuck in disbelief. "You can't be serious," she said. "He's the reason we're in this mess. He's behind everything. I'm taking him out."

"They're going to be here any minute," Tommy warned.

"Sarah," Chuck said, his voice steady. "Please."

Sarah moved her eyes back and forth between Chuck and Tommy. Slowly she lowered the gun. "Okay, Chuck," she said. "I trust you." Chuck smiled as Sarah approached him. He held his hands out to embrace her.

Sarah sidestepped Chuck, then spun around and gave Tommy a vicious roundhouse kick to the head. Tommy dropped to the ground. Chuck blinked twice.

"Um, okay, when I said we needed him, I meant we needed him functional."

"He's functional," Sarah said as Tommy groaned and started to stand back up. "I could have hit him a lot harder."

Chuck shook his head and turned to Bryce. "Where's Casey?" Chuck asked.

"He went to help you," Bryce answered. "Cute trick, by the way," he said, holding up the dead man's switch.

Chuck smiled. "Keep it as a souvenir," he said. Bryce smirked and tucked the switch into his pocket. Chuck undid the latches on the vest and took it off Bryce.

"Okay," Chuck said, turning to Tommy. "We need you to get us to sub level C, the foundry room."

Tommy cocked his head. "That wasn't part of the deal."

Chuck smiled. "Sarah?" Sarah cocked her gun and aimed it at Tommy's head. Chuck took Tommy's gun out of his holster. "I'm altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it further."

--

With the convention in chaos, Dillon slipped away from the crowd and retreated to his office. He had to make sure his personal files were safe from this virus that was plaguing the system. He closed and locked the door behind him, and went around to his desk. He punched his password into his computer and froze when he heard a sound from a darkened corner.

"You may as well come out," he said. "I know you're here."

Casey stepped out of the shadows, gun drawn on Dillon. "Not bad, Leonard. Still sharp after all these years."

"Captain John Casey," Dillon said with a snarl. "Been a long time."

"Since the Utopia Project," Casey replied. "And it's 'Major' now, if you don't mind."

"Congratulations."

The two men regarded each other for a long moment. Dillon broke the silence. "I have to tell you, that I've been hoping to run into you again. You're still the only man I've never beaten hand-to-hand."

Casey shrugged. "You might have, if we hadn't been interrupted by the MPs."

"Maybe, maybe not," Dillon replied. "Seems to me we were pretty evenly matched back then. And if you're anything like me, you've spent more than a few sleepless nights wondering who would have won that fight. So, now's your chance to find out."

Dillon slowly removed his gun, placed it on the floor in front of him, and assumed a fighting stance.

"Care to take another shot at it?"

Casey smiled. "Sure," he said, and shot Dillon in the chest. Dillon dropped to the ground. "What the hell, I'll take two." Casey shot him again, for good measure.

"Finally," he said sarcastically, "My sleepless nights are over." He looked down at Dillon's body. "Talking to a dead guy. I need a date."

Casey searched the office, pocketing anything he could find and bring with him in case the operation didn't work out the way they planned. He found a backup drive he figured Bartowski could make some sense out of, and a keycard. Satisfied, Casey moved to exit the way he entered, but stopped. He eyed the area behind Dillon's desk.

Something made Casey step closer to the wall, feeling around for an opening. He finally detected a seam in the wall, and pressed on it. The wall sunk back a few inches, then slid over completely, leaving a doorway. Casey drew his gun and stepped through, ready for anything. Well, anything but what he found in the room behind the door.

Sitting low and long in the center of a large hidden room, gleaming in deep black paint, was a 1955 Ford Crown Victoria - the very first year of the car's production. Casey caught his breath. He approached the car, ran a hand tentatively across the fender, and felt the distant echoes of his own lost love. He reached the driver's side door, looked inside, and grinned when he saw the keys sitting in the ignition.

"Best mission ever."

* * *

_For anyone who doesn't know what a '55 Crown Vic looks like, do a search for a picture. They're pretty cool. And, as you can probably guess, the car's going to pop up again later..._


	10. Chapter 10

_I uploaded two chapters at the same time, so if you haven't read Ch9 yet, you may be a little lost..._

* * *

Keeping to the smaller corridors, Tommy had managed to lead the group away from their pursuers and to the Foundry, just as Chuck had ordered. They entered the area, a huge production room that had sat vacant and unused for decades. Chuck nodded when he recognized the room from the Intersect data.

"This is it, all right," Chuck said, handing Tommy his gun back. "Okay, Tommy, he's all yours."

Bryce and Sarah both erupted simultaneously. "WHAT?"

Chuck looked at Sarah. "We had a deal."

"You're giving Bryce to him? Chuck, have you lost your mind?"

"Sarah, it's the only way. Believe me." Chuck looked her in the eye. Sarah saw something there, something she recognized. It was the look they shared on the beach, that first night they met. Sarah decided to go along with Chuck.

"If you say so," she said, stepping back.

"You're really doing this, Chuck?" Bryce asked.

Chuck nodded sadly. "If it makes you feel any better, we can call it even now."

"Even?" Bryce wailed. "This is beyond even, Chuck. Whatever I did to you was nothing like this. Do you have any idea what he's going to do to me?"

Chuck shrugged. "I'm better off not knowing."

Bryce's expression went cold. He stared at Chuck for a moment, then finally spoke. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

"I guess it is," Chuck said casually, and turned away.

Tommy put a hand on Bryce's shoulder. "Let's go, Larkin." Bryce lingered for a moment, then allowed himself to be pulled along with Tommy. Chuck's voice called out after him.

"Bryce."

Bryce stopped and turned. Chuck stared at Bryce wistfully. "We'll always have Poughkeepsie," he said.

There was a flash of recognition on Bryce's face, gone a moment later. He nodded somberly and followed Tommy again. They turned down a hallway and were gone.

Chuck turned to Sarah. "I know you've got a lot of questions. And I know this isn't the way you're used to things going. But I've got to ask you to stick with me for a little while longer. Can you do that?"

"You've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do, Chuck."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a yes."

"Good," Chuck said. "Then help me with this." He handed the vest to Sarah, and pulled one of the bricks of C-4 off. He tore into the brick, ripping it open to reveal a detonator.

Sarah laughed. "Hiding a detonator inside C-4," she said. "Aren't you the clever one."

"Actually, most of it is clay," Chuck replied. "This," he said, pulling another brick off," is the only real one. Can you wire it?"

"I'm on it. What are we blowing up?"

"Interesting thing about this facility," Chuck said, as he looked through the equipment. "It was an engine production plant during World War II. The Foundry part of it required an elaborate venting system that stretched throughout the entire facility. As a result, an explosion in the Foundry would easily cause a fire throughout every section of the plant. So, they installed a blast door system back then that would be triggered by a seismic event in the Foundry. It locks down all the major areas of the plant."

Sarah finished wiring the C-4 and handed it to Chuck.

"So," Chuck continued, finding an appropriate spot and placing the C-4. "Casey is off finding us some transportation out of here under the pretense that he's looking for us. If everything has gone according to plan, he'll be here at 8:15. There's a supply tunnel for the Foundry that runs all the way out of the facility and dumps out close to where we came in. Then, at 8:20, when the virus has run its course and the systems come back on line…"

"We detonate the C-4," Sarah said, getting it. "The blast doors drop--"

"And every major Fulcrum leader in the world gets to sit here and wait for the CIA and the NSA to come and get them," Chuck said, smiling. He set the timer on the C-4. "By then, we're long gone."

"I'd like to rip your clothes off right here and now, you know that?" Sarah said.

"Everything in moderation," Chuck grinned.

--

In the guard station, several agents went through the group of bodies.

"Over here," one said.

Milo groaned as one of the agents tore open his uniform to reveal a bulletproof vest. With help, he was able to struggle to his feet. He felt his holster, finding it empty.

"Give me a gun," he growled.

--

Casey shot the Crown Vic through the narrow corridors leading from Dillon's office to the Foundry, feeling the smoothness of the old flathead Ford V-8. And even better, Dillon had installed a few upgrades. Casey tapped a green button on the radio and saw a digital display come up. He dialed a frequency into the radio.

"Bartowski, you there?"

--

Chuck's earpiece came to life, startling him with the sound of Casey's gruff voice. "Casey? I didn't think these things worked at a distance. Are you close?"

"No, I found a long-range transmitter. I'll explain when I get there. You in place?"

"Ready when you are, big guy. Come and get--"

The emergency lights clicked off, and the regular lights came back on. Chuck's heart sank. "Uh, oh."

"Bartowski, you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Uh… yep. Looks like they recovered from the virus faster than I thought."

"Which means their camera system is back online," Casey grumbled. "You better get ready for company, I'm not going to get to you fast enough."

--

At the guard station, the lights came back on, and the security screens flickered to life. Milo quickly scanned the screens, but came up with nothing. "I don't see them. Is this everything?"

"All the active areas, yes," replied the agent manning the control console.

"What about inactive areas?" Milo asked. The agent punched a few sequences into the computer. A moment later, the screens switched. Milo pointed to one that showed static. "There. Where is that?"

"The Foundry. Probably a bad camera, that room's been sealed off for years."

"Call in all personnel to that location," Milo barked as he rushed out of the room.

--

Sarah looked at the shattered camera.

"Nice shot," Chuck said.

"It won't fool them," Sarah answered. "Maybe it'll buy us a couple minutes. Where's Casey going to turn up?"

Chuck pointed to the far end of the room, to a set of double doors large enough to accommodate a truck. "Through there."

"Okay, you get those doors open, I'll figure out where we can make a stand," Sarah said. Chuck ran to the doors, struggled with the rusty latch, and finally got them to slide open.

Sarah pushed over a metal table so they could get cover behind it, keeping it between the main entrance to the Foundry and their escape route. She ducked behind the table, watching the entrance, as Chuck settled in beside her. They were quiet for a moment, watching the door.

Chuck looked at Sarah. She had her game face on, and was concentrating on the entrance. Even now, bruised and dirty from the past two days, she was so beautiful. And they had made it so far. _Just a little bit further,_ he thought. _We're so close. Just a little bit further, and we'll be all right._

"Sarah," he said, quietly.

"Yeah?" she replied.

"I wish things could be different sometimes."

Sarah turned to Chuck. She smiled sadly. She opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a metallic clink.

Sarah peeked out past the edge of the table and saw a metal canister roll into the room, trailing smoke. "Gas," she whispered. "Hold your breath."

Sarah aimed at the ground directly in front of the canister, and shot. The bullet skipped underneath the canister and bounced it right out of the room. They heard panicked yells from just outside the room.

"Did I say 'nice shot' earlier?" Chuck asked. "That one was poetry, Annie Oakley."

Suddenly the room erupted in gunfire. "Well, they know we're here," Sarah said. A few shots rang off the table, leaving dents that imploded inward on their side. Chuck yelped.

"Cease fire!" a voice from outside the room called. The guns went silent. "Walker, we know you're in there." It was Milo's voice.

"Milo!" Sarah called back. "How's the head?" Chuck looked at her questioningly. "I guess we've both got some stories to tell," she whispered.

"We've got plenty of tear gas out here," Milo continued, ignoring her taunt. "But, that stuff really stinks up the place. Why don't you just surrender, and we'll save each other some trouble."

"Sure," Sarah called out. "Come on over, I'll hand you my gun."

"Funny," Milo responded. "Listen, you're worth something to us alive, I'll give you that. But considering the trouble you've given us today, I think it's safe to say no one's going to shed any tears over your death."

"Not even you, Milo?" Sarah asked. "I thought we made a connection back there in my cell."

Chuck scowled. "Yeah, you're going to have to tell me all about that," he whispered.

"I'm giving you three seconds to throw your guns over here by the door. After that, it's out of my hands. One."

"This never goes well for me," Chuck mused.

"Two."

They heard a low hum from behind the double doors. It quickly grew into a throaty growl. Chuck smiled.

"Three. Sorry, Walker."

They heard another metallic clink, but this time Sarah saw something different. She grabbed Chuck by the collar and yanked him towards the double doors.

"COME ON!!"

They took off running, bullets flying past them. Chuck glanced behind them and saw a grenade come to rest a few feet away from where he'd planted the C-4.

"Oh, no."

The grenade went off, and the explosion caused the C-4's detonator to misfire. The C-4 went off a split second later, and the entire facility shook. Chuck and Sarah were lifted off their feet by the force of the second blast, and thrown through the double doors.

Casey saw them drop in front of him, and stood on the brakes. The Crown Vic skidded to a halt a few feet in front of Chuck and Sarah.

"What the hell was that?" Casey asked. "I thought we had five more minutes!"

Chuck and Sarah scrambled to their feet and ran to the Crown Vic, scrambling in through the passenger door. "Just go!" Sarah yelled. Casey floored it.

--

Outside the Foundry, Milo picked himself off the ground with a groan. All in all, it had been a bad couple days for him. He looked around at the rest of the team, who were all recovering from the explosion. He opened his mouth to bark an order, then paused when he heard something.

"What's that noise?"

--

Even over the roar of the engine, Chuck could hear the grinding sound of the blast doors shutting. He looked ahead of them and saw one of the doors slowly closing off their escape route.

"Faster," Chuck said. "You must go faster."

--

Tommy led Bryce out of the golf cart, into the abandoned warehouse where the tunnel had deposited them. Suddenly the ground shook beneath their feet.

"What the hell was that?" Tommy asked.

--

The Crown Vic rocketed towards the closing blast door. Chuck gripped the door's armrest. "We're not going to make it," he said.

"We're going to make it," Casey growled.

"It defies the laws of physics," Chuck whined. "There's no way that an object of this mass is going to gain enough velocity to attain--"

"Good thing I failed Physics," Casey snapped.

The blast door loomed closer; they were almost on top of it. Chuck closed his eyes. Sarah buried her head in his chest. And the Crown Vic--

--Scraped its roof as it passed under the door. Casey howled in triumph. Chuck opened his eyes, gasped for air, and tapped Sarah on the shoulder.

"Sarah," he said. "It's okay. We're safe."

"I know," Sarah responded. "I'm just going to stay like this for a minute, if it's okay with you."

Chuck just smiled and stroked her hair. "It's more than okay with me." He turned and shared a rare grin with Casey.

Casey gripped the steering wheel, elated. "Best mission ever."

--

Tommy stood in the warehouse with Bryce, listening for any other explosions. Satisfied that there would be none, he led Bryce to a corner of the warehouse where a large object was hidden under a cloth cover. He pulled the cover off to reveal a 1971 Buick Centurion convertible.

"Hop in," Tommy said. "You've got a doctor's appointment."

"I don't think so," Bryce said.

Tommy glared at him. "You don't _think_ so? You don't get to think, Larkin. You do what I say, understand?"

Bryce smiled. "I didn't figure it out until Chuck mentioned Poughkeepsie," Bryce said. "See, Chuck came with me to visit a cousin of mine in New York back when we were in school. After a couple of days, we realized that my cousin was the single most boring person in existence."

Tommy shook his head. "I don't see what that has to do with--"

Bryce held up a finger. "I'm getting to it. So, we were stuck out there with my cousin, whose idea of fun was watching reruns of Mama's Family and inhaling paint fumes. Chuck and I played a little game with him. We rewired the remote to the TV with the board from an old cell phone so that when he'd try to change the channel, it would actually speed dial the house phone. We had him running back and forth the entire time we were out there."

Tommy's face went slack with realization. Bryce continued, pulling a device out of his pocket.

"The dead man's switch? It's actually a homing device. While the trigger was depressed, it was off. But once I let go of it in the guard station, it started broadcasting a distress signal to the CIA, along with our location. We're going to be surrounded by the Company's finest in a matter of minutes."

Tommy drew his gun and aimed at Bryce, pulling the trigger. There was an empty click. Bryce covered the distance between them in half a second, slamming his elbow into Tommy's neck. Tommy dropped to his knees. Bryce knocked him out with a blow to the back of the head, and Tommy slumped to the ground.

Bryce picked up Tommy's gun and ejected the clip, finding it empty.

"Attaboy, Chuck. Looks like you proved me wrong after all." He opened the trunk to the Centurion and dropped Tommy in, shutting it. He took a good look at the car. It was in okay shape, but a bit worn from the years.

It was a beat-up old convertible. The perfect kind for a road trip.

* * *

_One more chapter, and then I think I may do an epilogue._


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Hundreds of government personnel congregated outside the abandoned firehouse.

They had sealed off a five-block perimeter to accommodate the CIA, NSA, National Guard, and support teams. There were medical staff on hand for injuries, tech support for communications, and local law enforcement directing traffic outside the perimeter. It was organized chaos, and Major John Casey had rarely felt so at peace.

Casey rested in the driver's seat of the Crown Vic, with the door open and his feet on the ground. The car was evidence, yes, but he was reasonably certain that once they were done dotting the i's and crossing the t's, it could somehow manage to fall through the cracks.

Casey leaned over and opened the glove box. He found a box of Cuban cigars inside. "Too bad you were a traitorous prick, Dillon," Casey said under his breath. "I get the feeling we would have been friends." He pulled out a cigar and lit it, looking over at Bartowski.

Casey felt something unusual as he watched the younger man directing the NSA and CIA agents to the entryway for the facility. There was an entire battalion of the National Guard on hand, standing ready to invade the facility and arrest the Fulcrum agents and leaders. And there was Bartowski, telling them all where to go and what to do.

Casey tried to identify the feeling that the sight generated. It wasn't something he was familiar with. Finally, after a few moments, he figured it out.

It was pride. He was proud of Bartowski. The kid had come a long way since Casey had first met him. This plan of his had been genius. Crazy, to be sure, and Casey had been crazy to go along with it; but it was genius. And Bartowski had come up with most of it in the span of a few seconds back at the old bank.

The kid had taken on everything the spy world had thrown at him, and somehow managed not to become a burned out old husk, like…

Casey cast his eyes down and tapped the cigar, dropping a few ashes on the ground. Well, like some people he knew. And who could say? Maybe there was some hope for guys like… that.

Casey stood up and approached Chuck just as he was finishing up with the agents in command. The Guard was moving into position, and it was time to fall back and let them work. Chuck took a few steps away, meeting Casey. They stood face to face for a moment, neither saying anything. Casey took a long draw on his cigar.

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that, Bartowski?"

Chuck grinned. "Right back at you, Major," he responded. They both turned to look at Sarah, who was watching the commotion from a distance.

Casey spoke in spite of himself. "Listen, Bartowski. Maybe… maybe it's not such a bad thing to get involved. Maybe it makes you remember… what's important."

Chuck started to respond, then decided not to push his luck. "Maybe," was all he said.

"Well, I've got a mountain of paperwork," Casey said, fishing in his pocket. He pulled out a set of keys for the Suburban and handed them to Chuck. "Why don't you give Walker a ride home?"

"How are you going to--" Chuck started to ask, then saw the old Crown Vic in the background. "Ah. So, you finally going to let me off the hook for blowing up your other one?"

"Not a chance," Casey said. Chuck laughed. They looked at Sarah again.

"Well, go on, get it over with," Casey said. Chuck smiled and walked towards Sarah.

"Chuck," Casey said. Chuck stopped and turned back. "Nice work today." Chuck looked a little stunned, and whether it was from the compliment or the use of his first name, he gave no indication. He just gave a small wave, and started back towards Sarah.

Casey stood, watching him go, feeling proud. He thought of Ilsa, and wondered where she was in the world. Maybe there was hope after all.

--

Sarah watched the agents and the Guard flow into the tunnel entrance. It was going to be a huge undertaking, making all those captures and arrests. She was glad she hadn't been put in charge.

_But,_ she thought, _what if the person in charge is with Fulcrum? What if half those agents are? What if it leads to the lawyers and the judges, and the rich men in mansions who pay for the lawyers and the judges…_

Sarah shook her head. She couldn't think about it. She had to take it one step at a time. She had to trust who she could, and keep vigilant. She could do it. She knew she could.

A voice came from behind.

"Hi."

She wanted to turn around, lean into him, close her eyes and press herself against him, let him protect her from all the uncertainty and the liars. She wanted him to hold her so tight that she'd forget everything she'd seen in the last two days, and fill in her memory with bright details of everyday events. Movies, vacations, dinners with family and friends.

But now, more than ever, she knew she couldn't do that. Even though they had dealt Fulcrum a major blow, there would be others waiting to take the place of the agents they'd capture. There would always be someone…

"You okay?"

Sarah finally turned around to face Chuck. "I'm fine," she said.

"Yeah, you look ready to take on the world," Chuck said, running a gentle finger across the bruise on her cheek. The comment took on a double meaning, given Sarah's recent thoughts. She couldn't help but laugh.

"Ugh," she said. "I forgot about that. I must look like hell."

"You look beautiful."

Sarah stared at him. "You saved me," she said. "It's supposed to be the other way around."

"Figured you wouldn't mind a change of pace," Chuck said.

Sarah smiled slightly, and looked down. "Chuck," she said.

"No, wait," Chuck interrupted. "I want to tell you something. Something I've been meaning to tell you since you came to me at the BuyMore."

Sarah thought back to that moment. It seemed like two months ago.

"I think I know what you were talking about, now," Chuck continued. "And it's something I think about all the time. What if we had met walking down the street? What if we were just a guy and you were just a girl, and we fell… well, fell for each other. I wish it had been like that. I wish it were that easy."

Sarah felt a hitch in her breath. Chuck kept going. "But, it didn't happen that way. We met the way we met, and we are who we are. And it's because we met that way, it's because we are the people we are, that I got to see what an amazing person you are.

"I promised myself that if we got through this, I'd tell you how I felt, no matter what the consequences. No matter how much of a fool I made of myself. Well, here we are. We got through it. And I want you to know that I'm in love with you."

Sarah gasped. She knew, of course. Everyone knew. Hell, even Casey probably knew. But it was something entirely different to hear it. She fought every muscle in her face, commanded them to stay still, to keep from breaking into the biggest smile of her life. She couldn't let it happen.

She took a deep breath. "Chuck… I'm not going to lie to you. I care about you. I care about you so much. I've never felt about anyone the way I do about you."

Chuck smiled. Sarah winced as she continued, knowing what she was about to do.

"But everything that's happened here is because of how I feel about you. I was captured because I was too distracted to concentrate on protocol. I put myself in danger, but more importantly, I put you in danger.

"What would happen if we went ahead and let our feelings run loose? Sooner or later, we'd pay the price. Maybe we'd be walking down the street arguing over whose turn it was to do the dishes instead of paying attention to the world around us, and next thing you know we'd be surrounded.

"Now - especially now, after everything we've seen here, we can't take that kind of a chance. I know how much we both want this. But in the end, it's just too much of a risk."

Chuck stared at Sarah, an indistinguishable expression on his face. Sarah couldn't tell what he was thinking, or how he felt about what she'd just said. Finally, just when she couldn't stand the uncertainty anymore, he spoke. He began quietly and slowly.

"I want you to know, Sarah, that the things I've done over the past 24 hours to find out where you were and to bring you back safely are things I never thought I was capable of doing. I think there's a good chance that I'll never tell you exactly what I've done, because I don't know if you could look at me the same way again.

"But I did them. I did them because the thought of losing you was so much worse than what I had to go through to find you. And if the situation arose again, I wouldn't hesitate for a moment to take actions that were even worse. A hundred times worse."

Chuck took a step closer, and his voice grew stronger. Sarah felt her pulse race at his approach. "So, stand there and tell me, all you want; that it's a risk. Stand there and tell me that it's against protocol. Most importantly; stand there and tell me that it'll never happen, that it's impossible. Say it until you're blue in the face. It doesn't matter. I won't accept it. I refuse.

"Because I'm in love with you, Sarah Walker. And as much as you want to deny it, I know that you're in love with me."

Sarah's mouth dropped open.

"And finally," Chuck said, "if you want to talk about 'sooner or later,' knock this around in your head for a while."

Chuck stood right in front of Sarah, almost pressed up against her, and brought his lips right up against her ear. As he spoke, reducing his voice to a husky whisper, Sarah felt Chuck's lips brushing against her ear and went lightheaded.

"Sooner or later, you're not going to be able to deny it anymore. Sooner or later, there's going to come a day when you realize that all the rules, all the risks in the world, aren't enough to keep us apart. And on that day, I'll be waiting." Chuck brought his mouth away from her ear, and looked her right in the eye. Sarah's heart pounded. She had never, ever wanted anyone to kiss her as much as she wanted Chuck to kiss her at that moment.

Chuck seemed to sense it. He smiled, the faintest hint of a smile, and stepped back.

"See you soon, Agent Walker."

Chuck turned and walked away. Sarah stood, watching him go, electricity running through every inch of her body. Casey approached her.

"You all right?"

Sarah nodded vacantly, still watching Chuck as he got into the Suburban and drove off. Casey looked around.

"Well, we should probably make sure you're not too badly hurt. Come on over to the ambulance, we'll have one of the medics check you out."

Sarah shook her head. "I can't do that."

Casey looked at her. "Why not?"

"Because if I move, I'll have an orgasm."

Casey's eyes widened, then narrowed into amused slits. He chuckled to himself and walked towards the waiting Crown Vic, puffing on his cigar.

"Best. Mission. Ever."

* * *

_A no-prize to the first person who can tell me where that "orgasm" line came from. Oh, and another no-prize to anyone who can tell me what a no-prize is. :)_

_Stay tuned... an epilogue is in the works..._


	12. epilogue

_Finally, the epilogue. Sorry for the super long delay, but I wanted to lay some groundwork for a possible sequel and hadn't quite figured everything out yet..._

_This chapter takes place a couple days after Ch.11._

* * *

Chuck squinted at the tiny jumper in his hand, trying to seat it correctly on the hard drive. He couldn't help but laugh at the situation. He had tracked Sarah down, lied to the CIA and NSA, outwitted Bryce Larkin, and concocted a plan that had crippled Fulcrum on an international level. And yet here he was, doing the same exact thing as when the whole mess had started.

"How long is this going to take?"

Casey stood right behind Chuck as he worked on the drive. It was a pet peeve of Chuck's, having someone hanging over him watching him work, but he figured he was better off trying to ignore Casey than introducing him to Chuck's likes and dislikes. The jumper snapped into place.

"Done," Chuck said, turning around and smiling triumphantly at Casey.

"What do you want?" Casey sneered. "A medal?"

Chuck's smile disappeared as he turned back to the PC on his desk. "All things considered, I don't think a medal would be out of the question," he said.

"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up," Casey growled. "The NSA isn't exactly big on pomp and circumstance."

"I don't understand why you need me to do this, anyway," Chuck sighed. "I thought the big government brains already analyzed the data from the facility."

"They did," Casey said, producing a disk. "This is all the email records from the facility computers, including Dillon's. I want you to compare what's on this disk to Dillon's backup drive."

"Why?" Chuck asked.

Casey paused. "Because I want to know if the information on this disk has been tampered with," he answered.

"Tampered? Why would anyone--" Chuck stopped and turned to face Casey again. Anyone who hadn't been associated with the NSA agent for a long as Chuck had would have read Casey's expression as completely neutral. But Chuck saw it - the worry; the suspicion in Casey's eyes.

"We didn't get all of them, did we?" Chuck finally said.

The edge of Casey's mouth twisted up into a sour grin. "We'd be pretty naïve to think we did."

Chuck looked back at the drive on his desk. _So much for that medal, _he thought.

A moment later he shook himself out of it. "Okay. I've got a data mining program I can run on the drive and the disk. It'll compare any files that are found on both the drive and the disk to see if any of the information has been changed. If it's email correspondence, it'll list the names that show up on the drive that don't show up on the disk. We'll know then if anyone has tampered with the data. Will that work for you?"

"I don't know, I--"

"--stopped listening after 'data mining program,'" Chuck said, nodding. "I know. You need some new material."

Casey snorted, which was about as close as Chuck figured he was going to get to a amicable laugh. "How long is this going to take?"

Chuck shrugged. "Hard to say. Could be a few minutes, could be hours. Depends on how complex the files are."

"Bring anything you find straight over when you're done," Casey said, crossing the bedroom to the window. He paused before climbing through. "Bartowski."

_We're back to that,_ Chuck thought. _Great._ "Yeah?"

"Thanks," Casey said. Before Chuck could respond, Casey climbed out the window and shut it behind him in one fluid motion. Chuck smiled.

"You're welcome."

Chuck hooked the drive up, inserted the disk into his PC, and ran the mining program. It immediately found corresponding files on the two media and began comparing them. Chuck watched the program working for a few moments before he heard a tapping on the window. He rolled his eyes.

"You've got to learn some patience, big--" Chuck turned to the window and froze in place when he saw Sarah looking through. She smiled timidly and waved at him. Chuck stared at her for a moment before waving back. A huge smile crept onto his face.

Sarah raised her eyebrows and gestured inside.

"Oh," Chuck said, fumbling with the window. "Sorry."

--

Tommy's eyes fluttered open.

He was slumped over in a wooden chair, with his hands tied behind his back and his ankles tied to the legs of the chair. He felt sluggish, but otherwise in good shape. He wondered how long that would last.

His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and he could see that he was in a small room, no windows, with just a steel door. He could just barely make out some very small vents built into the ceiling, definitely nothing that could be used for escape. He was stuck here for now.

Bryce's voice pierced the silence.

"You're probably wondering why you're not with your colleagues in a holding cell somewhere," he said from a dark corner of the room. Tommy looked in the direction of Bryce's voice and could just make out Bryce's sitting form.

"Save the theatrics, Larkin; I'm not talking."

"Don't need you to talk yet. Just listen," Bryce said, standing up and approaching Tommy. He stopped a few feet in front of Tommy's chair. "Like I was saying, you're here and all your buddies are in an impromptu detention center miles away. Now, why is that?"

Tommy shrugged.

"Well, I'll fill in the blanks, then," Bryce continued. "You see, we've got a lot of you guys in that detention center. A lot of you. But, we don't have all of you; do we? There had to be plenty of agents who were off doing their regular jobs when the raid went down. Plenty of agents tucked away in little satellite bases scattered all around. Plenty of leaders who didn't quite make the cut when the invitations for the assembly got sent."

Bryce stepped close to Tommy. "So, what that tells me, is that there are plenty of you guys running around free. It tells me that some of the very people who are in the process of arresting and convicting your agents could very well be Fulcrum themselves."

Tommy glared at Bryce. He started to realize where this was going.

"So," Bryce continued, "the only things I can be sure about right now is that you are Fulcrum and I am not. Two things. Not a lot to go on, but it's a start. So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to stay here, nice and hidden, while I work with the analysts and the interrogators on gathering intel from the prisoners in custody. Then, I'm going to bring it back here to you, and you're going to be my own personal spell checker on that data. And together, we're going to separate truth from fiction."

Tommy looked at Bryce. He could see that he was serious. He looked around at his personal prison.

"You can't do that," Tommy said. "You can't hold me without due process."

Bryce looked amused. "You're talking about your rights," he said. You believe that you're entitled to the protection the government grants its citizens."

"I know I am."

"The problem," Bryce continued, "is that you're not a detainee of the government right now. You're in the custody of the United States of Bryce Larkin."

Tommy's heart sank.

"No one on earth knows where you are but me," Bryce said. "I'm the reason you're going to get food and water for the foreseeable future. And I promise you that I'm going to take good care of you for exactly as long as you remain useful to me. The moment you cease to be useful--" Bryce snapped his fingers. "I disappear. And you get to starve to death in this shitty little basement."

Tommy let the reality of his situation sink in. He breathed in deeply, and finally broke the silence.

"I'm hungry," he said.

"That's the spirit," Bryce smiled.

--

Chuck took Sarah's hand and helped her climb in through the window. Once she was through, he kept holding her hand. They stood close to each other as their eyes met.

"Hi," Chuck said.

"Hi," Sarah responded.

Chuck looked down at her, taking her all in. She was so beautiful, radiant in a simple t-shirt and jeans. Even the scrapes and bruises from their adventure couldn't detract from how gorgeous she was. With his free hand, Chuck gently touched her cheek, and she closed her eyes as he ran his fingers down to her chin.

"Listen," Chuck said.

"No, you listen," Sarah interrupted. "I'm crazy about you."

Chuck beamed.

"It's been two days since that little speech of yours, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since," Sarah continued. "I've been walking around in a daze. I can't concentrate on anything, I'm constantly daydreaming, and it's going to be a very long time before I'm able to distinguish passion from post-traumatic stress disorder. And it's taken a whole lot of will to come here and tell you what I have to tell you."

Chuck's smile faltered a bit. This was the part where things usually went badly for him.

Sarah pressed herself against Chuck, grabbed his collar, and pulled him close enough so that their lips were almost touching. Her voice came out low through clenched teeth: "If you ever, ever leave me weak in the knees like that and then walk away without kissing me like it's the end of the world, I'm going to punish you in ways that have never been recorded in human history."

Chuck gasped. He faltered for a moment, then finally stuttered out, "Well, that actually sounds like it could be worth the--" Sarah yanked down on Chuck's collar, crashing her lips into his. Chuck quickly recovered, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her tightly against him. He returned the kiss, running a hand up her back to her neck, grasping a fistful of her hair and pressing her head against his even harder. Sarah moaned, breaking the kiss to move to Chuck's neck. Between frantic kisses on Chuck's neck, Sarah was able to gasp:

"Ellie and Devon?"

"Gone," Chuck responded breathlessly. "No sign of them. I think maybe they've moved out of the country." He pulled Sarah's head back to kiss her chin, moving down her neck.

"Shame," Sarah moaned. "I'll miss them. Although it's probably for the best, I think this may get a bit…" She moved her lips up to Chuck's ear and bit into his lobe. "Loud," she growled right into his ear. Chuck dug his fingers into Sarah's back as he breathed in deeply.

"Oh," Chuck groaned. "Well, in that case, I do think it's for the best that they're nowhere to be found." He grabbed the sleeve of Sarah's t-shirt and pulled it down so that the neck opening slid over her shoulder. He bit her shoulder, as gently as he could stand, and followed it with a kiss. "Casey's bugs?"

Sarah whimpered at the sensation of Chuck's teeth on her skin, then pushed him back against the desk. She slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out a small device. "White noise transmitter," she said, dropping it on the desk and ripping Chuck's shirt open. Buttons flew. "He won't hear a thing."

Sarah kissed Chuck's chest. Chuck moaned and grabbed the hem of Sarah's shirt, slowly lifting it up, feeling the smooth skin underneath. "That may be the sexiest spy gadget I've ever seen you use." Chuck pulled Sarah's shirt up, higher and higher. Sarah straightened up and raised her hands above her head, ready for Chuck pull the shirt off completely.

Chuck's PC chirped an alarm. Chuck froze.

Sarah remained with her arms above her head. "Um… Chuck?"

Chuck turned slowly to look at the computer screen.

--

Tommy looked at the tray of food in Bryce's hands. "That's not… drugged, or anything, is it?"

Bryce cocked his head. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Nowhere."

Bryce set the food down on a small table across the room from Tommy. Tommy stared at the tray. It had been two days since he'd eaten last. He tried not to show how desperate he was for the food, but he knew he couldn't be succeeding. "So, are you going to untie me so I can eat, or…"

"In a minute," Bryce said. "I want you to tell me something first."

Tommy looked at the food again. It looked terrible. He wanted it very badly.

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"I want a name. As a show of good faith. Highest ranking government official actually working for Fulcrum. Tell me that, right off the bat, and you can eat."

Tommy looked down at the ground. He was planning on keeping the name in reserve; a bargaining chip for later in the game. It was his greatest asset, and he was going to have to use it for a tray of crappy food.

"I… I don't think I'm going to tell you that now," Tommy said, trying not to look at the food. His stomach growled, as if it were voting on the situation. "I think you need to give me more in return for that information."

Bryce nodded. "If that's the way you want it," he said casually, picking up the tray and opening the door to the basement.

"Wait!" Tommy cried. "I'll tell you."

Bryce turned around in the doorway and faced Tommy, waiting.

"I'll tell you," Tommy repeated. "But you're never going to believe it."

--

"Chuck… are you seriously stopping now?"

Sarah dropped her hands to her sides, grabbing her shirt and pulling it back down.

Chuck's world began to spin around him as he stared at the computer screen, and he felt unsteady on his feet. He looked at the name the data mining software had produced. The name that had been taken out of the analyzed disk given to Casey. The name of the person who had shown up in emails to Leonard Dillon, director of Fulcrum.

_BECKMAN, GEN. LOUISA_

"Chuck," Sarah whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Don't freak out," Chuck said to himself.

* * *

_This was a lot of fun to write, and it was especially worth it for the reviews and the feedback. Thanks to all who took the time to read and review._


End file.
